Wrecking Ball
by chezchuckles
Summary: Watching too much Setup/Countdown produces fic like this. Castle and Beckett encounter something that just might act as a wrecking ball.
1. Chapter 1

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>Every time she looked at him like that, he thought - <em>Man up.<em>

He had to prove himself to her; not because she might think he couldn't handle it, but because he was a man, and regardless of these post-feminist times, she would see him differently if he wimped out. He'd lose standing in her eyes if he couldn't be counted on under pressure.

Also. Something about the shock on her face, the ripple of _Oh God_ made his gut clench in a prehistoric way, made him want to protect her.

Save her life.

Just how it worked with him. When it came to her.

Standing across the white quarantine space from her, deja vu so strong that he couldn't separate the Beckett from two years ago with the Beckett of now, Castle stared back, swallowed hard, and-

Manned up.

* * *

><p><em>8 hours ago<em>

Beckett laced her fingers together, elbows propped on her desk, and tilted her head at him, the smile stretching across her face, unable to stop it. Castle, overeager and theory-spouting, waved his arms and turned his happy face on her. She loved that face.

"Okay, so there's the horse-"

"The horse?"

"It's dead! Just like our victim. In fact, the horse *is* a victim."

"Castle, it's a horse," she said, lips pressed together but still unable to keep the smile back. "A dead horse isn't a victim. And just died. It wasn't. . .murdered."

"Could have been. And how strange is it that the day after we find this guy, someone else finds the dead horse? Both in Central Park? The horse that went missing on the same day this guy was killed?"

"I think the dead horse is a coincidence."

"No way."

She lifted her eyebrow, and he toned it down a little, but apparently he couldn't stop the bounce. She watched him for a moment, then gave him a break.

"So tell me why it's not a coincidence," she sighed, putting her hands down and standing up to join him at the murder board.

"Because he took the horse out that day."

"You don't know that."

He made a face, nose wrinkling, and turned back to the timeline, tapping the dry erase marker against the whiteboard. "Okay, I don't _know_-know that. But he's got the time for it, right?"

"He does," she said slowly, nodding her head. From three p.m. until five p.m. - his time of death. Or roughly around five. Lanie hadn't been able to narrow it down much further than that.

"He goes horseback riding, he stumbles - or rather trots - upon something. Something sinister. He's killed to keep him silence."

"And so was the horse? It's not Mr. Ed." She crossed her arms over her chest, stepped closer to the board, studying it even as she verbally refuted his theory. The North Meadow Recreation Center boarded horses and rented them out to Central Park visitors for riding along a six mile bridle path.

"He was found about two hundred yards away from the bridle path," she murmured, trailing her finger over the map. "But it's not his horse. He didn't own it."

"Doesn't mean he didn't ride it."

She twisted her lips, thinking, put her hands on her hips and turned back to him. "Okay. It's a possibility."

He grinned, leaning past her to grab her jacket, holding it up. "Let's go check out the stables again, Beckett. You ever ride bareback?"

She really shouldn't laugh at that.

* * *

><p><em>5 hours ago<em>

"You want me to what?"

Even Castle could hear Lanie's screech on the other end of Beckett's cell phone. He bounced on his toes and glanced around the park, watching people, pretending he wasn't listening eagerly to the conversation. They'd just talked to a couple people from the stables; one recognized their vic from his photo. His theory had been given some substance.

"It's. . .it might be part of the case, Lanie."

Beckett winced and Castle grinned wider; he could just imagine how the rest of this conversation was going. Lanie was getting hot and bothered about how she wasn't a horse doctor, spouting off about how long and hard she worked to get where she was and she wasn't going to be bringing no big-ass horse into her autopsy bay.

Of course, he was imagining it, but he was pretty sure it was exactly like that.

Beckett half-turned away from him. "Lanie. I'll owe you. Big time."

Owe her? Hmm. What exactly? What do two professional women, good friends, offer in exchange for a favor? Would it be-

"Lanie. We have *got* to find out what killed that horse-"

Beckett's eyes flickered back to his, a hesitant, hopeful look on her face before she smiled broadly.

"Lanie, you're the best. Thank you." She hung up her phone, slid it into her jacket pocket and grinned at him. "All set. Lanie will do it."

He grinned back.

"Awesome."

Beckett opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it.

"Can we watch?"

* * *

><p><em>2 hours ago<em>

She drove too fast; really, that was all he was thinking at the moment. They had an address, but did it require excessive speeds? Fingerprints on the horse had come back with a hit; it thrilled him to no end, but couldn't she have let them watch?

Seriously, he was more than a little bummed they'd not been privy to that autopsy. How had Lanie discovered fingerprints on a massive 900 pound horse? (15 hands high, he'd discovered. Somewhat akin to the police horse he stole once. Interesting times.)

Beckett pulled her phone out; he saw it was ringing only by the lighted display. She must have it on silent. Or vibrate - there was a faint tremor to her hand.

"Lanie?"

He waited, but this time there was no shriek from the ME. Other news though, because Beckett's face went deadly still, her mouth tight. She let out a breath as she changed lanes and, if possible, her speed went up.

"You know yet what the horse was injected with?"

Injected with? Castle waited, only slightly impatient, and watched Beckett's profile as she listened.

"Fine. Yes. Soon as. Thanks." She hung up and gave him that half-glance, a quick dart of her eyes. Too serious. He wanted to say _I told you so,_ but her face was too serious for that.

"Beckett?"

"Lanie found an injection site on the horse's flank."

"Someone murdered the guy's horse?" Fabulous. Well no. Not fabulous that a man and his horse were dead. "This case gets stranger by the hour."

"Lanie's doing a tox screen."

"Poisoned horse, strangled victim. You know, that picture I googled of the dead horse - do you remember the flecks of foam?"

"Horses do foam up, Castle." She was rolling her eyes, but he thought it might be still about how he'd managed to find so much on the dead horse online. Obviously, the dead horse hadn't been her case - it wasn't even a case - but he'd started filling in the horse's timeline the moment he'd heard about it's death.

He really wanted to tell her _I told you so._

"Horses foam, yes, when they get worked hard. I thought, at the time, it meant our vic had tried to ride the horse, escape - too hard."

"And now?" she asked tersely.

He thought maybe she already had guessed it. "And now. The toxic agent introduced to the horse's system. Obviously."

She grunted, gave him another quick look. "Lanie found blood in the horse's mouth. Around its hooves as well. She doesn't know what it means yet. She's calling a horse vet."

"They have horse vets?" But what he as thinking about were things like ebola and yellow fever - acute viral hemorrhagic diseases. Which might cause horses to bleed at the mouth and hooves. Perhaps.

Beckett sighed and made a screeching turn, found a space at the sidewalk. "We're here," she muttered unnecessarily.

They had back-up on the way. Ryan and Esposito, ETA 20 minutes. Not once, in all the time he'd been with her, had he thought to himself, _we should wait for backup._ Not once.

Today he did.

She got out, pushed aside her coat; Castle followed.

They were outside a commercial space in Tribeca, Lower Manhattan. Close to Canal street, which formed one leg of the triangle that bounded the area. He'd been to the Textile Building in the Historic District, everyone had, and this space looked similar: columned first floor, flat brickwork straight up for 8 or more floors. He tilted his head back and spotted papered over windows, glass missing, crumbling edifice.

Maybe they should wait for backup?

"You coming?" she called, weapon already drawn and pointed carefully down, crouched next to a metal door.

He followed, because he always followed.

* * *

><p>"Kate?"<p>

She was still staring at him, the tinge of horror and expectancy in her eyes. Like himself, she was wearing scrubs, her hair was in a wet rope down her back, drying slowly. They'd hustled him to the van and he'd been panicked at the thought of not seeing Beckett - but here she was. With him.

He took a step forward and was practically on top of her; she sank to the bench seat running against the side of the van, shoulders hunched.

"They tell you anything?" he asked, sitting beside her. Only place to sit.

"No."

"The decon shower was invigorating," he muttered.

She actually laughed, lifted her head to look at him. Swimming eyes. What were they swimming in?

"We should've waited for back-up," she said on a sigh.

He sighed back. "We'd still be here. Along with Ryan and Esposito."

"At least there's that," she murmured, and dropped her head to her hand, rallied to make it look like she was only shoving her fingers through her wet hair. "You okay? Otherwise."

"I'm good. Those guys in the suits gave me a prostate exam-"

She snorted, lips pressed into that smile he liked so much; she shook her head at him. "Castle."

"Clean bill of health though," he finished, then shrugged on a small, tight smile of his own. "At least. For that."

"I don't know how it happened," she whispered, lowered her head again.

"Not your fault, Beckett," he said, his voice gruff. He'd been able to call his mother, talk to his daughter. He hadn't let on what was happening. No mention of decontamination showers or the mobile quarantine unit they kept talking about. And then they'd shoved in here - what he assumed was that mobile unit.

At that moment, the engine turned over again; the modified van lurched under them. There was a banging fist on the back door, and then they were being carried through the city.

To be delivered to a hospital.

At least they'd be quarantined together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>This wasn't a hospital.<p>

"This isn't a hospital," Castle squeaked, turning to her.

She tried to ignore the heavy dread in her guts, tried to keep his flare of panic from catching fire in her own eyes.

"It's not," she agreed slowly, standing in the white room with Castle. Waiting. "It's. . .it's not."

Of course, Castle started moving towards the door they'd gone through, but it was locked. Most likely. No door handle on this side, so no way to really know. The van had backed into place - she'd heard the warning every delivery van had when put in reverse - and then the locks had disengaged. She'd pushed open the back door and found the open door waiting.

Castle had followed her the short distance, poking at the white tunnel connecting the van and the building. It had been hastily erected, but it was solid. So they'd gone through the door.

And it had closed behind them.

"Beckett."

She swallowed and let her eyes meet his.

"This isn't good, is it?"

She had trouble breathing past the ache in her throat. "It's not."

His hands curled into fists; he looked down, away, then back to her.

"We'll be okay." His eyes were determined. But.

She didn't think so.

* * *

><p>"No," Castle said, pushing Beckett behind him. The man in the biohazard suit could be frowning or smirking, and he'd have no way of knowing.<p>

Beckett stayed. That told him enough.

"We stay together," she said, her voice like ice. She was closer now; he felt her heat at his back. She stepped to his side; it gave him a measure of confidence.

Castle stared down the visored visage before him, trying to inject as much will power as he possibly could. The voice from behind the white suit came out muffled.

"I'll see what I can do." The voice might have been placating, might have been in earnest; he couldn't tell.

Castle reached down and grabbed Kate's hand; she squeezed his fingers with her thumb and knuckle. She didn't shake him off, even in front of the androgynous suit in front of them.

"Follow me." The white suit turned back to the smooth, closed door. It opened before for the white figure like sinister magic.

Castle was rooted to the spot. Here in the holding room, he could pretend it wasn't happening, wasn't as bad. Past that door was. . .what?

The hand in his twitched. He turned his head to look at her.

Her face, although pinched, held none of the anxiety he felt. That, too, gave him confidence.

"Let's go, Castle."

* * *

><p>A suited form dragged another cot in. Two cots now. No bathroom, but maybe the small metal disc beside the door was a call button, like for a stewardess. Maybe two hot stewardesses would attend to his every need. Maybe-<p>

Beckett pushed past him and claimed the cot nearest the wall. He watched her for a moment, then glanced around the small room.

White walls, white floor. The kind you could wash bodily fluids off from. Easy. No grout. A sprinkler above his head - probably not for any kind of fire suppression system.

Foot locker under the cot Beckett was sitting on; silence sharp and echoing.

The door buzzed and opened - the buzz was their only warning, like it was a courtesy buzz. Two white-suited men (could be women) came in, carrying supplies. Scrubs. A deck of playing cards. MREs. The army-issue packaged meals scared him. Meant they'd be here awhile. Meant this wasn't a public hospital and that there wouldn't be someone waiting on the other end of that call button to bring them meals and take them to the bathroom and-

"Change into these," a voice came. The scrubs were pushed into his hands, the rest left on the empty bed.

Then they were gone.

"This isn't a private hospital," Castle grunted, glancing down at the blue scrubs left in his arms.

"I don't think these are CDC guys either," Beckett said.

He turned back to her, really looked at her for a moment. They'd both had their old clothes taken from them, phones and accessories gone; she wore pink scrub bottoms, a white top, while he'd been given thin green pants, a too-big green top. He felt like a surgeon going commando.

Kate looked afraid.

He held out the new set they'd been given, watched her swallow hard.

She took the top set, shook out the bottoms - those must be his. He switched with her, felt her fingers brush the back of his hand. Kate's eyes had been too still, too brown, but she seemed to rally when their hands glanced.

With a sigh, she tossed the scrubs onto the cot. "Time to change," she said, and crossed her arms at her waist, grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it off over her head.

He looked for half a second - no bra - then turned around.

* * *

><p>Kate leaned against the cold wall, tilted her head back and blinked; the new scrubs were itchy, starched.<p>

They'd know soon enough. Wouldn't they? How long could a blood test take?

That had been her favorite leather jacket. Burned now, most likely. Damn. At least she hadn't worn her father's watch this morning, at least Castle had convinced her to let her mother's ring stay in the box.

She watched him tug the scrubs up over his hips, put her hand to her mouth to stop the sigh that wanted to escape. She needed - she was grateful they hadn't been separated.

"Avert your eyes," he hissed at her, throwing her a look over his shoulder as he reached for the top.

"No thanks," she murmured and smirked at him. He laughed back, the sound easing the fist that clutched her heart.

He turned back to her as he pulled the scrub top over his head; the ripple of warm skin over muscle and ribs pulled her upright, away from the wall, towards him.

When he got the top straightened out and finally looked up at her, she was there in front of him. He startled, hands coming up to grip her elbows as he rocked back on his heels.

Kate waited, let him get his bearings with her so close. When it looked like he was willing, ready, she leaned in, brushed her lips against his ear. She could feel him shiver, enjoyed the answering shiver in her own skin.

"I think it's FEMA," she murmured. "And that means it's bad."

She pulled back, saw the stone-cold shock heavy in his eyes. She nodded; he lifted a hand and wiped it over his eyes, over his mouth.

"A bioweapon?" he said softly, lifting an eyebrow at her.

She nodded again. "We saw the lab equipment. The containment suits. The - the dead."

He swallowed and his eyes closed. When the dead bodies he'd stumbled over had presented the same symptoms as the horse - bleeding at the fingernails and mouth, a sheen of bloody sweat - she'd called it in.

Her fault they went without back-up, her fault Castle had practically tripped over the dead guy in front of the refrigerated unit. He'd had to wipe his hand off; she remembered that clearly. She should've made him stay behind her; the one time they dropped protocol, the one time-

"Not your fault, Kate." His palms were warm against the side of her shoulders; he squeezed, his head ducked to look her in the eyes. The difference in height suddenly made her feel small. "This isn't your fault."

"We could die."

He shrugged. "Everyone could die. Everyone dies at some point."

"We could die. . .painfully."

"Thanks."

She cracked a smile at the look on his face.

"You make it hard to find the silver lining, you know that?" he muttered, but he was half-smiling back at her. At least they weren't freezing to death, he seemed to be saying.

She took in a long breath and leaned in, let her forehead rest against his neck, eyes fluttering shut. Close to where she wanted to be.

Castle sighed. His palms slid around to her back, fingertips pressing into her skin, guiding her closer. She shuffled forward, let herself wrap her arms around his waist, let herself rest.

He didn't say they'd be fine. He didn't bother.

She was grateful for having him in the silence.

* * *

><p>"Let's play cards," he said.<p>

She opened her eyes. Castle was on his cot across from her, holding up the blue deck. Kate brushed her hair away from her eyes, struggled to sit up. She hadn't really been asleep; he somehow had known that. She leaned against the wall, raised her foot to tap her toe against the metal frame of his cot.

"Scoot closer."

Castle stood, pushed the cot with his knee as he pulled the cards out of the package, had to kick out with his other foot to nudge the head of his cot towards hers. Kate leaned over and tugged on the frame when it got close enough, pulling it flush with hers.

"What are we playing?" she asked, because doing nothing while they waited to find out if they'd been exposed was worse than playing a stupid game of cards.

(He'd wiped his palm off on the dead guy's coat. The dead guy had still been wearing a coat. Was it faster-acting than this? Should he be dead already, if he had it?)

"Crazy Eights," he answered, flicking a grin in her direction, pleased with himself.

She let the smile trickle down through her chest, warming the ice in her lungs.

He put a knee onto his cot, then crawled up next to her, leaning against the wall, their shoulders touching. Kate watched him a moment, _You really want to do that?_ on her face, but Castle didn't blink. She let him stay.

He started shuffling the cards, the hypnotic sound of the two halves of the deck breaking, layering together, then the softer noise of the bridge movement, the little trick her father had taught when she was ten, a way to put the cards neatly together once they'd been shuffled.

"Eights are wild?" she asked, trying to remember. Trying not to remember.

"Uh-huh." He began dealing, putting her cards on her thigh, his thumb and forefinger pressing into her. The material of her blue pants was thin enough that she could feel the round edge of his nail. She flexed her quad, saw the smirk lift the edge of his mouth.

She let her hand hover over the cards he was dealing her. "Discard the same suit or same number?"

"Both. Like Uno."

She gathered her eight-card hand, fanned it out in front of her face, lifting an eyebrow over it, glancing at him with a tight smile. He was trying - harder than she was - and if she let him, he could make her forget. He could make her think they were just hanging out in a strangely white room, their usual.

Except for awhile now, usual had been. . .a little more.

Beckett cast a quick glance around the room again. Searching. No cameras that she could see, no place to hide one either. Bugs maybe, but they'd both run their hands over the cots, the frames, searching. The sprinkler system's spigot was shiny chrome, but when Castle had stood on the cot and checked, he'd found nothing.

How well observed were they?

Because there was a little more. For awhile now. For too long, having just a little. And now if-

Just-

"Your go, Beckett."

She glanced down, saw he'd already discarded one on the stack. For a second, she had a hard time figuring out what she was doing, what they were playing at, and then it came back to her.

Crazy Eights. With Rick.

_No_. Castle. With Castle.

Couldn't forget that, not here.

She laid down a three and gloated when he had to draw, playing her part.

Just Castle. Not Rick.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>His hand fell to her knee, stilled her restlessness. He had to say this.<p>

"I should've. . .we should've split up."

"No." Her voice was steady, low.

"You're probably okay. I. . ." He swallowed, remembered the way the blood felt, warm on his palm.

"No," she said and gripped his hand on top of her knee. Her legs were crossed; her knee was at his thigh.

"I could infect you-"

"No," she said again, squeezing his hand tightly.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall. Crazy Eights was at a draw; he remembered now why he'd banned the game in his house. Alexis had wanted to play it over and over when she was seven or so. He'd grown to hate it.

He'd give anything to play Crazy Eights with Alexis again.

Who would watch out for Alexis?

At least Kate-

If he hadn't already-

Castle stood quickly, headed away from her. Distance. Shouldn't be breathing the same air. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, tried to remember. How close had they been lately? Not too close. She should be-

"Rick."

He spun around at the sound of her voice - broken - on his first name. She had the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes, shoulders hunched. His feet compelled him towards her without his permission but he stopped, jerked back.

Stay away. For her sake. She'd watch out for Alexis. Stay-

She lifted her head, her eyes flooded. The closest to begging him he'd ever seen.

"I probably have it," he said slowly, gritting his teeth together at the look on her face. "I shouldn't-"

"Please." And now she was begging. With words. A word.

He shook his head, closed his eyes against it. Kate.

"It's too late now," she whispered.

He heard the cot creak as she stood, opened his eyes to find her coming for him. He couldn't move away, couldn't do what he ought to.

Her palms came up to cradle his face; her thumbs brushed his cheeks.

"Too late now."

"Kate." His voice broke.

Too late now.

* * *

><p>He played solitaire and she watched. She had no way of stopping the ever-tightening knot in her guts, but she could watch his hands move over the cards, watch the thick and round fingers, the wide palms. He had good hands, safe hands. She wondered why she'd only now let herself see them.<p>

She tilted towards him, knees pressing against his thigh, pushed in close, trying to keep breathing. Just keep breathing. He'd be fine. He was fine.

He turned his head; she heard his skull scrape against the wall. His eyes were grey on hers.

She couldn't hold it together. Couldn't bear-

He brought his other arm across his body to touch her, his fingers gentled at her cheek, thumb along her cheekbone; she stuttered in a breath and pressed her forehead to his shoulder, stayed there in the relief of darkness.

He didn't say anything, merely stroked his fingers from behind her ear to gather at her cheek, over and over, keeping his palm away from her skin.

The palm that might have infected him.

Kate wrapped her arms around his, felt his hand drop the cards and then slide between her knees, grip her thigh. The fingers at her cheek fell away, brushed the back of her neck, curling at her nape. Held to him by the barest of touches.

She felt his chest rise and fall, found her own breath, found she could breathe with him.

* * *

><p>"I have to know what's going on," Kate said and jumped to her feet.<p>

Castle grunted as his house of cards fell to pieces on the bedding, then struggled to his feet, pushing off the cot with his fists.

"We - uh - I don't think they're too keen on telling us anything," he reminded her, watching her pace to the door.

She pressed the silver disc, like an elevator call button, and crossed her arms over her chest, tapping a foot.

"They've got to let us go to the bathroom, right?" Kate turned and gave him a small, courageous smile.

Ever since she'd curled into his side, clutched around his arm, he'd tried very hard not to break her. Not say the one thing, the many things, that might make her crumble.

If she broke, he'd break.

Castle came to her side. "Yeah. I could. . .use a bathroom break." Castle leaned past her and pressed the button insistently, figuring the persistent widow begging at the godless judge's door was a good example to follow in this case. They had to just be annoying about it. Someone would eventually get tired of hearing the button, right?

If it was at all connected to a buzzer, or bell. Or something beyond this room.

Kate paced at his side, striking out to the wall at their left before coming back to him, pausing, then turning again.

When she'd paced fifteen or twenty times, and Castle had pushed the button a hundred or so, he reached out and snagged her by the scrub sleeve, yanked her back. "Stop."

She lifted her head and glared at him, opened her mouth to speak-

The door slid back.

* * *

><p>Kate whipped her head around, watched the suit in the now-open doorway. Castle wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.<p>

"Bathroom," Kate said, finding any other words had left her.

Castle stepped in closer to the white suit. "Surely you have a bathroom, right? You can't expect us to just hold it. All day. Or - or days? Although-" He turned his head and glanced back to the white room. "I supposed it'd be easy to clean urine from-"

"Follow me, Mr. Castle."

Castle stepped back, waiting on her, so Kate moved to go through the doorway. The white suited figure shook its bulky, visored head, held up a hand. "One at a time."

Castle cleared his throat. "Together. Or not at all."

"Not at all," the suited figure said, and began to step away.

Kate pushed through before the door could close, glaring at the person in the suit. "I don't care who you are, you can't keep us from the bathroom. That's not humane."

"One at a time."

"Together," she insisted. "I don't know you; I don't trust you. He doesn't go anywhere without me. We stay together."

Whatever it was in there, whoever it was, said nothing. Perhaps they were staring back. She had no way of knowing. Castle was at her hip; he nudged her forward and came further into the hall.

The white suit gave up, turned, and led the way.

* * *

><p>Branching off from the long white hall was another one, forming a T-intersection. Definitely some kind of permanent structure, not just the white tented-tunnel thing they'd walked through before. And the air felt damp; the walls under his fingers were chilled - made him think it was underground.<p>

It could be a basement to a research hospital. NYU Langone was a biomedical research hospital in Manhattan. Well, it was actually three hospitals, so it was possible-

But still a wild theory.

Ahead of him, Kate paused. The white-suited figure kept walking on down the hall; Castle stopped beside her.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured, resumed walking at a slower pace once he was at her side.

"Research hospital. Underground. Lots of money in this."

She shook her head. "If it's FEMA, then it'd be government-funded, less money than you'd think, right?"

"Why FEMA? Why the government at all?" he asked quietly.

"The way they're treating us, the MREs they gave us, the foot locker in the room."

"Foot locker?" he said softly, walking slowly beside her.

"Looked inside. Military issue." She jerked away from him when the figure in white turned around to look for them. They kept walking; he tried to look nonchalant. The suit watched them a moment, then resumed walking.

"Military hospital?" he said, suggestion.

Kate hooked her arm through his, shrugged so that he could feel it.

The had turned right at the T-junction; he had to remember that. What went to the left? He had looked when they turned, but he looked again.

Another white suited figure disappeared through a featureless door. He paused but Kate dragged him forward. "Castle," she hissed, digging her elbow into his side.

He turned back around; the white suit ahead of them had stopped, silently, was watching them. He and Kate came forward, stopped as well.

One door. One bathroom. Seriously?

"I'll - uh - wait out here," Castle said, laughing, but it sounded strange in his own ears.

He lifted his eyebrow at her; she shrugged and stepped through the newly opened door. The bathroom was as white and clean as the room they'd been in for. . .who knew how long. One toilet, the toilet paper hooked onto a steel ring in the wall beside the comode. The sink was closer to the door, but there wasn't much space inside.

The white figure pushed on Castle's back, and he stumbled forward, turning to look at the thing. "Hey."

"Your choice," it said. And shoved again.

"Kate-" he warned.

She looked at him, mouth opening in shock. "Castle."

He used his hands in the doorframe to push back, keep the figure from knocking him inside.

"Together." The suit behind him seemed to say it with such (albeit muffled) snark. Castle glanced back to mouth off and got shoved inside, door sliding shut behind them.

Kate sighed.

He glanced at her. "Uh. I'll turn around."

"Turn the water on," she muttered. "And then close your ears, and your eyes, and hum something."

He laughed, glanced back to see her face, got a murderous glare for it. "Oh. Sorry. Right. What do I hum?"

"I don't care, Castle. Just do it loudly."

He could feel her fumbling at his back, reached beside him to flip on the water faucet. The rush of water acted as white noise, covering whatever was going on. Like pushing down her pants - neither had been given underwear, so it was just-

"Hum," she said.

He put his hands over his ears, couldn't help the smirk on his face, closed his eyes, and tried to think of something to hum.

Nothing came to him.

Kate Beckett was using the bathroom right behind him. It. . .wasn't supposed to be sexy. It really shouldn't be. And it wasn't. Really. Just-

Uh.

"Hum, Castle!"

He squeaked something out, hearing it muffled through the hands clapped over his ears, finally found a tune.

It happened to be 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,' and not, as one might assume, 'Tinkle, Tinkle, Little Star.' It wasn't.

Promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>They were too close.<p>

The bathroom was a tight spot, but she didn't want to go back out there yet. He left the water running when he took his turn (jeez, she was blushing, and not thinking about it, really not thinking about it), so they left the water running now to speak, hoping it would defeat any eavesdropping devices.

"Did you wash your hands?" he said perversely.

She slugged him in the shoulder. "They won't give us much more time. So. What do you think?"

"I think you should wash your hands."

"Castle," she growled, but somehow his petulance lifted her spirits, helped clear her head. "I washed my hands. Did you?" she spat back.

"Of course. I display excellent hygiene. Military or private?" he asked suddenly.

The change in subject was welcome. Plus she was leaning towards military. "Why private?"

"Money."

"The military has money."

"Under this administration?"

"Enough money," she murmured, lifting her eyes to his. Too blue, too clear. A broken blood vessel in the corner of his left eye; she couldn't look away. Was it the start?

_No._

"Private," he insisted. "Heard the call you made on police scanners, came and intercepted us. They arrived before the rest of crime scene guys could get there-"

"But where were Ryan and Esposito?" she muttered, rubbing her forehead, not looking at the burst blood vessel in his eye. Not looking. He was fine. They didn't even know, for sure, did they? No one had told them anything.

"I didn't see them."

"Only twenty minutes behind us," she added, not understanding. "How long before we stumbled on the bodies?"

"Before I literally stumbled-?"

"Castle," she admonished, chest squeezing, body squeezed, too tight in the narrow, white bathroom. He was fine.

He shrugged. "Ten? Not even. Main floor, back office; it happened fast."

It had. Too fast. She'd cleared the wide warehouse, gone to the office door with her weapon ready, Weaver stance, cleared the room. She'd cleared the room. Her fault, because the first body had been collapsed behind a work table in front of a medical refrigeration unit. Castle had gone left; she'd gone right.

He'd been looking at her; she'd been saying something. What was it? Dinner. Something about dinner.

Her stomach cramped, growling; Castle looked down at her, smile playing on his lips. His hands came to her shoulders, tightening, and she took it, leaned in and took the haven he offered.

Resting.

She'd said something about dinner, had been, in her own small way, inviting him out, had been preoccupied by it all day. By the preparation necessary to convince herself to do it, by the way he'd been looking at her since. . .since forever. Caught up.

His hands slid to her back, held her against him.

She breathed him in. Still Castle. Still. . .sweat and aftershave (maybe cologne?) and laundry detergent that was tantalizingly close to the stuff her dad used. Nothing else lurked below that male scent, no other. . .unwanted presence.

She shivered and slid her arms around his waist, pressed her cheek to the top of his shoulder.

A stupid invitation to dinner. A casually - too casually - thrown out _Want to get Chinese after this? _that had made his head come up and look at her, stunned, still moving around the table as he looked at her, analyzing her, not looking where he was going.

And then the lurch forward, on his hands and knees - she laughing softly, thinking only Castle could get tripped up over a dinner date (not a date, not in so many words) and then his voice, a little high, a little strangled, calling her name.

"Beckett?"

She lifted her head now, saw the question in his eyes.

"If I'd just-"

He shook his head. "Don't." His hands came down to her shoulder blades, keeping her there.

She bowed her head, felt her hair brush his mouth. "I shouldn't have-"

"Kate," he breathed at her ear; she felt the rough slide of his jaw along her cheek. Her fingers curled at his lower back, fists against the scrub top, tried not to move, not to breathe out of turn.

She heard her own anxious sound but couldn't stop it, couldn't pretend that it wasn't all her fault that he was in this. "Castle."

He huffed against her skin; she felt the breath shiver down her neck, stringing along her collarbone. Her hands were at his scrub top as if she could hang on to him, keep him from whatever fate awaited them.

His nose nudged her hers, breath skirting her cheek. She lowered her chin, slowly, felt the stubble on his jaw scrape her, her own breath stuttering at his neck. His fingers were at her spine, trailing upward; she felt her back straighten as he climbed her vertebrae until his palm was at the nape of her neck, curling.

She sucked in a breath, startled by the possessiveness of his touch; her nose brushing his, breaths mingling-

The bathroom door buzzed loudly in the silence.

She jerked away, eyes burning, turned her back on him to face the opening door.

* * *

><p>"I'm starving," he whined, knew it was a whine, couldn't help himself.<p>

There'd been a moment, in the bathroom of all places, and he was being a sore loser. He knew that. He'd accepted this character flaw in himself before - his tendency to be dramatically disappointed when things didn't go his way - and he was trying to be better.

But Rick Castle felt like a man marked for death, and if he wanted to bitterly lament the fact that he'd once again gotten cheated out of kissing Kate Beckett, having a moment with Kate Beckett, then he'd damn well lament.

"Me too," she said quietly.

They both sat on the floor against the door-side wall, directly under the silver disc. Castle reached above his head and fumbled around for the call button, pressed it again, incessantly. Third or fourth run of button-pushing in the last few hours.

Apparently the bathroom-freedom was all used up, and they'd had their shot. No one was going to come now.

"They gave us MREs," she muttered finally, then shifted positions until she was on her hands and knees.

Hands and knees. Her ass practically in his face, round, those long, lean legs; the scrubs were seriously not flattering, but Beckett managed to look at least adorable in them. He knew he looked like squared-off sack in these things, but not Beckett. Beckett looked like a young, fresh-faced intern on her first rotation.

He sighed. She was crawling halfway across the floor to snag the pile of crap (supplies, crap, same diff). She scooted backwards with the plain box of MREs caught between her fingers, settled next to him. Closer than before. Not looking where she was going, either, so that she half-sat on his lap, caught his hip bone on her way back.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry one bit, and dumped the MREs in his lap. He opened the top of the box, a beige thing that simply said: Meals, Ready-to-Eat. Inside were an assortment of brown packets, much like a large collection of instant oatmeal, and each was labelled with the name of the entree or side item.

"Oh, there's quite a lot in here." He fished around in the box, drew out one that caught his eye. "Maple sausage. Are you kidding me? Do they have pancakes?"

"What is it with you and breakfast food?" she growled; he could hear the eye roll even if he couldn't see it.

But she did snatch a packet from the bottom, clutch it to her chest. "Lemon pepper tuna."

"Ew, Beckett," he groaned, stopping his perusing to look up at her. She had leaned in close to him, her knees pointing his direction, her shoulder against his so she could look in the box as well. "No way. We sleep in the same room; you'll be breathing all in my space. You're not eating tuna."

He plucked it from her fingers - or tried to anyway. She kept a firm hold of it; he had to dig it out from against her chest (he was so not complaining), then tossed it across the room, away from them.

She gaped at him, glanced at the MRE packet that he'd hit the opposite wall with, then gave him a good long glare.

"But look what I found instead?" he squeaked, holding up another packet. "Dessert."

She snatched it from him. "First Strike bar?"

"Look, it's mocha. There's also chocolate in here-"

She snagged that from him too. When he pouted at her she shook her head. "You eat all the maple sausage you like, Castle. You vetoed my tuna, I get both chocolate and mocha."

"You're so mean." But he was back to looking through the box, and really, he'd been about to give her both of them anyway. And she was Beckett. Like he'd ever withhold something from her anyway. His eye caught a name, and he pulled it out. "Ooh, Beckett, you're gonna love me."

"I alr - ah, what?"

What? She allllll what? She already-?

"What, Castle?" Apparently as impatient as a two year old, she jerked the packet out his hands and sucked in a breath. "Coffee."

"Save it for morning," he warned.

"Morning?" she cried, lifting her eyes to his. The easy silliness and lighthearted tease fell away in an instant. Dread rushed over him once more; his own despair echoed in her eyes. They were going to be here awhile.

They might be here for the rest of their lives - however short they were.

He struggled to beat back the hopelessness. _Silver lining, silver lining_. Remembered what she needed from him. The only thing she needed from him, the only thing he could provide.

"There's a vegetable lasagna in here too. Actually, two veggie lasagnas. Want to eat that for dinner, have some powdered juice mix, call it a night?" He reached out to wrap his hand around her arm, smoothed his thumb against the tender skin at her elbow.

Her eyes were shuttered again, the emergency door closed down over her cracking emotions. She nodded, held her hand out for the MRE, still entirely too vulnerable before him. He hated to see it, hated what it meant.

Castle gave her the packet but let his fingers play against her palm for a moment, relinquished the package to her only after he thought he couldn't get away with it any longer.

"Eat your dinner," he said softly.

* * *

><p>"What I wouldn't give for a toothbrush."<p>

"The Xylitol chewing gum didn't do it for ya?" he asked.

Kate turned her head and gave him a twitch of a smile, then stuck her tongue out at him, showing him the gum as she headed for the cot.

He barked a laugh, eyes crinkling. It was the first real smile she'd seen from him in hours; the first natural smile. She felt proud of herself for surprising it out of him.

"Still chewing it. But I really would rather have a toothbrush."

He'd chewed his gum as well and spit it out in an empty MRE packet. "You know, I remembered another nickname."

Kate crawled up onto her cot, lowered her cheek to the flat and unappealing pillow. He'd been at it since dinner, either making up the acronyms or truly remembering the terrible names. "Lay it on me," she said with a sigh.

She didn't have to look to know he was leering; she let him have it. Castle lowered himself to his cot, the two beds still pushed together. He laid on his back, arms behind his head, that smile still lingering around the outside edges of his mouth.

"They used to have a low fiber content, so. . .Meals Refusing to Exit."

She laughed back, lifting her head to look at him. "You're making that up."

"Noooo," he said, smiling as well. "Also, Meals Requiring Enemas. And Massive Rectal Expulsions."

"Oh gross, Castle." She curled up on the bed, put her arm under her head so she could see him, felt her eyes getting heavy despite that. She shivered, reached down to drag the thin sheet up to her waist. Didn't help.

"It's true. I don't make these things up. The soldiers do. They have a lot of free time."

She snorted at that, shifted to one side to get comfortable, knees drawn up. The sheet pulled away, but she didn't reach back for it. Her fingers found the seam between the two cots, pushed her thumb into the crack.

His shoulder was right there, his elbow technically over on her side of things. Close. She wouldn't tell him to move. Couldn't.

"We shouldn't both sleep, speaking of the military," she said softly. "Someone should always keep watch. Be on guard." She blinked her eyes rapidly to get rid of the dry feeling, tried to force her attention towards reality, the present.

Castle turned his head and his arm came across his chest and the entirely too-short distance to brush her cheek with the back of his hand. "You sleep, Kate. I'm not tired."

"I can-"

"Sleep."

She watched him for a moment, still trying to fight it, but knowing it was hopeless. "Wake me if you. . ." How was she supposed to say that? Wake me if you start bleeding from your fingernails, if you start tasting blood in your mouth?

He rolled onto his side, facing her, his palm at her cheek. Entirely too close, too intimate with the cots pushed together. She could only stare back at him, feel his chest bump against her fingers at the crack between the cots.

"I'll wake you if anything happens. Anything."

She sucked in a long, unhappy breath but nodded, the movement making her cheek brush against his fingers. She didn't want to sleep away what might end up the last night she had with him, but she was crashing hard.

"Sleep, Kate."

A stroke of his thumb along her cheekbone, his fingers uncurling against her neck and into her hair, and she was pulled down.

* * *

><p>He was surprised when, out of the haze of her half-sleep, one of her arms lifted to let her hand curl around his wrist, holding him to her cheek. Not that he'd let go, or move away, not at all, but it was different to have her anchoring him to herself.<p>

She fell asleep easily, looked like she was sinking, her breathing growing heavier, slower, her face relaxed. He watched, noted the soft increments of unconsciousness steal over her, tried to memorize the method.

If he was going to die, he wanted this to hang on to.

Rick brushed his thumb slowly, so slowly, over her cheek, skirting the ridge of bone and the sweep of skin. He shifted closer, breath by breath, trying not to jostle her awake, until her knees were trapped in the angle of his own body, his forehead just a jolt away from hers.

Like this, he knew he would stay awake for however long she needed, feeling her neck pulse at his wrist, her hair soft under his fingers at her nape, her cheek at the heel of his hand. He'd stay awake because this might be, most likely was, the last of his time with her.

They'd been hurtling towards this for years now. Every close call and life-save they made was just a postponement of the inevitable. One of these days, she was going to get shot and not recover; he was going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. One of these days, maybe this day, they'd begin the end.

After she was shot in the cemetery, his daughter told him that everything ended at some point. It was a fatalistic view of life she'd picked up, but he hadn't been able to deny the truth of it. Yes, everything would end. Did end.

He just didn't want something like this to be so mortal, so vulnerable to something as ridiculous and superficial as time. This. The way his body leaned towards hers, the way her cheek felt under his palm, the way everything - everything - held meaning where it never had before.

While Rick Castle himself might be mortal, while Kate Beckett alone might be mortal, the unspoken thing between them that rose up, rich and warm, wasn't, couldn't be, so earthbound, so limited, so final.

She made a sound in her sleep, a barely-vocal keening, and he couldn't resist any longer, couldn't stop.

Castle slid his other arm under her neck, curled her closer to him, kept her there, at his chest, unable to admit that yes, everything reached an end, but no, no,

no

this could not be theirs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>She woke in a mixture of warm and cold, liquid and brittle. Her back ached, her jaw clamped her teeth together, her bones felt as if they'd been rattled hard.<p>

Kate opened her eyes, felt her lashes brush something light, something warm. His nose. She breathed out slowly, tried to loosen her jaw, her knees throbbing. Her joints.

His hand was still at her neck, her own still curled around his wrist. Her knuckles felt stiff; she tried to flex her fingers but couldn't.

"Hey," he said quietly. She tried to place it, herself.

Taking shifts. Standing watch. "How long-?" But she shut up, closed her eyes, because there was no way to measure time.

"You okay?" he murmured, and his hand at her neck allowed his fingers to slide through her hair, over and over, petting.

She twisted her hips, tried to ease her knee down. Her leg slid between his, without her say, but she froze not because of the press of his knees around her calf but because of the crack in her bones as she moved.

She sucked in a breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut now, trembled against it.

"Kate?"

"Just." What? "Slept wrong." She forced her leg to straighten, then the other, finding their legs tangled together now but she couldn't care, couldn't gather her mind back together as her body ached.

"Hurt?" he asked, and she heard the rising concern, the thin edge of fear.

She opened her eyes with an effort of will. "Just need to change positions. Cot isn't exactly a feather bed."

He nodded, his mouth closed to agree with her, no matter what she said, and she saw in his silence and at the back of his eyes that he didn't believe her.

She didn't believe her either.

"Move onto to your other side," he said finally, and tugged at her neck.

She realized she was all right where she was warm; the places where her body touched his, they were fine. Maybe it was just the cold. "Just cold," she gave him, lifting her eyes to his, both of them hoping.

She'd been worried about him, but maybe-

Castle had an arm curled under her neck as well; he used his advantage to curl her towards him and then turn her, readjust her body along the lines of his. "I'll warm you up," he murmured against her cheek.

"Not even a joke?" she said, trying to keep the chatter out of her teeth as she shivered. His thighs came up behind hers, warmth and heat and liquid-melting strength. Both arms around her now, his mouth at her neck.

Just the moist heat of his breath at her nape, but it was intimate, close. The heat blazed just under her skin.

"No joke needed," he replied. She felt the slide of his smile, a secret smile, at her spine, his nose in her hair. "You smell like you."

She shivered at the touch, the sound of his voice at her back, the truth inherent in his statement. She'd done the same to him earlier, hadn't she? Sniffed at his skin as if she could detect the first traces of the disease, could filter out a day's sweat from fever sweat, the natural scent of his body from a foreign body.

"Good," she said finally and curled both arms into her chest, between his hand and her scarred heart.

But even as she did, she spread the fingers of her left hand out, touched his, pad to pad, palm to palm, and then laced their fingers together.

"Interdigitation," he murmured.

It made her laugh and her laughter squeezed his fingers. "Trust you to have a word for it."

"Always."

* * *

><p>He watched her sleep, her body warm and liquid against his. Maybe it had just been the cold. No fever, no chills, just stiff joints from going at it hard all day yesterday and then being thrown in the back of a van and taken to who knows where.<p>

Castle put his nose to her shoulder, breathed in, pressed his mouth to the skin he could find. It was a strange angle, and his neck was tight, so he eased back up to the pillow, contented himself with his cheek against her hair.

They, themselves, were at a strange angle. Had been for almost a year now. They went on dates that she wouldn't call dates; they stayed up too late at night talking on the phone about nothing. She came over to the loft and spent the night in his guest bedroom, or the couch in his study, and once, even his own bed, a friendly distance between them. He'd crashed at her place as well.

The spent a summer apart, but she'd gotten no further on her mother's case. They knew each other's secrets but wouldn't speak of them. He had the feeling, all the time, that she was keeping herself from him. For what reason, he had no idea, because she still let him stay, still opened the door to him when he showed up at her place at eleven at night, still gave him those grand, tender smiles to his every joke, still asked him, in that teasing voice, 'You coming, Castle?'

She let him stay. After everything.

It didn't matter that there wasn't a name for it, this, didn't matter that the words were known but never spoken. What mattered was this, her in his arms and needing him, letting him need her.

Doing it together. Whatever it was.

She jerked in his arms, the last of a dream maybe, then sighed. Mumbles and a sharp breath, then her foot twitching. He grinned, lifted up onto his elbow to watch her.

"Serve the chicken."

Distinct and clear as day. He smothered a laugh and peered around to see her face; eyes were closed, mouth slack.

"For love," she sighed, and with a strange flick of her wrist, seemed to sink back into the dream.

He blinked, puzzled through that. After a moment, he realized that both serve and love were tennis terms. And the flick of her wrist, the twitching foot. Yeah, she hadn't been having a sexy dream about serving him dinner; she'd been having a regular dream about playing tennis. With a chicken instead of a ball. It happened.

In dreams, that was.

_Four love._

Not for love.

Castle squeezed the fingers still laced through his, decided to take advantage of her deep sleep and his need to stay awake. If she were awake, she wouldn't stop him. He leaned over her and pressed his lips to the soft spot under her jaw, close to her ear.

She hummed.

He pulled back, watching her eyes dart under her lids in REM sleep, then eased forward again to taste her skin. Just sweat, and Kate, and that faint residue of perfume or makeup or whatever it was that he'd sometimes tasted before.

On her couch late at night after they'd wrapped a case, or in the doorway of his guest bedroom telling her, closely, good-night. He'd had samples of it then, flavors of Kate Beckett, but with her body in the warm shelter of his own, she was an entirely different concoction.

And still, so very familiar.

He touched his tongue to her ear lobe, gently took it with his teeth, not wanting to wake her. Then the skin behind her ear, the brush of her hair against his nose. He used the hand that had been propping up his head to caress the top of her skull, slide his fingers through her hair, tug it away from her face.

Her breath expelled, long and low, nearly a vibration of noise. He leaned in to kiss her temple, tasted the sweat. He dragged his lips along her forehead, felt the warmth of her skin.

Too warm?

He pressed his wrist to her forehead, felt the heat lick up the inside of his arm. The sweat was at the back of her neck now too.

Castle closed his eyes, buried his face in her hair, tried to breathe through the clamp tightening around his chest.

He eased back from her, took a ragged breath in, then blew out at the nape of her neck, hoping to cool her off.

It wasn't a fever, wasn't aching joints. She wouldn't present with chills and uncontrollable shaking, wouldn't progress to bleeding fingernails and tear ducts of blood. No.

No.

She wasn't sick.

He refused to let it happen.

* * *

><p>Kate woke with a wrench, clutching at him for dear life. Her heart thudded, his breath at her neck, murmurs of safety in her ear.<p>

She blinked, bright whiteness, turned to lay on her back in the cove of his arms. "Castle."

"A dream. You're fine. Relatively."

She nodded, pried a hand off his forearm to run it through her hair, sweat on her scalp, prickling her skin. She swallowed, felt the twitch of her thigh as her muscle cramped. "Thirsty."

He was watching her too closely. "Neither of us have had much water."

She nodded, glad for that explanation, and not the one currently running through her head. Joint aches, muscle fatigue. What else had Lanie said on the phone? Nothing good.

"Warm?" he asked.

"Mm. Okay." She watched him as well, his face concerned over hers, realized his hand was at the top of her head, fingers at her scalp, running through her hair, over and over. "Feels good."

He huffed a laugh, no amusement in it, but he didn't stop. She closed her eyes, drifted until reality returned piece by piece.

"Have you slept?" she asked, opening her eyes to him.

Castle shook his head, now propped up on his elbows watching her.

"Your turn." She pushed on his bicep, felt the tremor of muscle straining at her finger. "My turn to watch over you."

He got that pleased, self-satisfied smile on his face, a good one, as if she were giving up some kind of confession. No confession that, just the truth. Just what he already knew. That it still delighted him, her regard or concern or care for him, revealed only more about himself than her.

He was still watching her.

"Lay down, Rick." She reached out and stroked her fingers along his jaw, as always felt him waver at her touch. Finally he rolled onto his back and stared up at the white ceiling. She shifted until she was on her side, a hand propping up her head, curled up near his shoulder, her knees close to him.

He reached out a hand and patted her leg, then curled his fingers, traced her knee. "You get tired, wake me."

"Of course."

"Or if. . ."

She sighed. "I'm fine."

He nodded, but turned onto his side, pressed his forehead to her thighs, taking a long, shuddering breath that she felt, felt all the way inside.

Kate dropped her hand to the top of his head, smoothed it through his hair. "We're fine."

He nodded against her, pressed his fingers between her knees to grip her thigh. His body was angled across two cots, hers at the far corner and perhaps, it could be said, curled around his. But she wouldn't move, wouldn't want him to move either.

She traced the shell of his ear with her finger, smoothed her thumb over the sharp scratch of his jaw. She wanted to kiss him; she shouldn't hold herself away. But the angle was wrong; she couldn't do it smoothly. She had to content herself with the slide of her fingers on his skin and the warmth of his breath evening out, familiar and intimate at her knees.

His hand squeezed her thigh in his sleep; she slid her arm over his back, down, as if she could hold him there.

"We're fine," she murmured, invocation and supplication both.


	6. Chapter 6

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>"Castle!"<p>

The rush of noise and light, the fumble of hands jerked him awake. Kate had a death grip on his arm, glaring shadows were over him, white suits and hard visors and the muffled breathing, the grunt of effort-

They were taking Kate.

He lifted up, furious, gripped her hard, reached an arm out to encircle her. "Kate-"

"Castle." She was being pulled away; he felt the cots drag under him as they took her; he would not let go. He would not-

"Kate-"

An elbow into his ribs broke his hold, only a moment, Kate's fingers digging into his back, his bicep, her face blank with panic. He threw off the man trying to hold him down, got to his feet even as Kate was pulled away.

"Kate. No! Stop - Kate-"

She kicked out, twisted; he was already reaching for her. She grabbed for him, an arm hooked around him; he clutched at her.

A swift punch to her side; she grunted, curling in reflexively, losing her hold on his neck. He felt her body being pried from his, reached for her again, caught her around the waist at the door, his eyes locking on hers an instant before a fist smashed into his face and he was reeling back into darkness.

* * *

><p>He came to on the floor, nose bloodied, cracking and dry, face a mess of pain.<p>

He lifted up, swayed, wanted to be sick but swallowed it down, put his head between his knees.

Kate.

He jerked to his feet, slammed a hand into the silver disc, pressed it again and again, repeatedly, pushed his finger into the button and held it there, unsteady on his feet, ice in his guts.

Kate. God, _Kate._

The door stayed shut, shut, shut tight. The silver disc - he didn't even know if it was truly connected anywhere, didn't know if he was being heard. Couldn't know.

He'd yell, shout, pound the door, except he expected it would do nothing, nothing. Nothing at all. No recourse; they'd waited until he fell asleep and then they'd taken her, and if he'd only been awake, stayed awake, if only he hadn't fallen asleep-

"Kate!" he yelled, pressed the silver button insistently, kicked the door with the flat of his bare foot, pounded it, heard the rattle through the wall and down, felt it vibrating his bones as well.

He could taste blood in his mouth. Just from his nose. Surely. Just-

"Kate!"

He kicked the door again, again, thumb cramped at the button, a rabid and jerky movement, again and again, over, over, they had to come, they had to-

The door buzzed and Castle startled back, landed on one knee as the door opened.

The figure in white came toward him with a needle; he scrambled away, half on his feet, half crouched, tripped over the cot still dragged out into the middle of the room, felt the needle in his thigh, the depression of liquid forced into muscle.

He reached down to knock the hand away, felt the steel grip around his wrist even as black, black, black, black-

-a domination of black.

* * *

><p>Cot.<p>

His head, face. His face.

"Fu-"

He moaned the curse away; his own voice coming out of his throat was agony, as if the sound could slice it to ribbons. Water. Or even a moist breath. His face livid, the skin hot.

Castle lifted his head and grunted at the pain that swam and reoriented his face, tried to raise his hand to touch it, but nothing would move.

He opened his eyes to the too-white room, blinked hard, squeezing, looked again and this time - no MREs, no second cot, different room, same features.

"Kate."

His chest was tight, hard to breathe. He struggled for air, looked down, felt a thick band across his pecs, under his arms, couldn't push up. Arms strapped down as well, only the straps were soft velcro, safety restraints at his wrists.

They'd taken her.

He growled through the mess in the back of his throat, turned his head and opened his eyes again. He was on a cot, strapped down, still that slow and sluggish ice in his veins, drugged.

"Just. . .tell me where." His grating voice was the only sound in the room.

The door buzzed, too loud and jarring, a clatter right inside his head. He opened his eyes when he heard their suits whispering as they came inside, turned to look.

Two figures in white, carrying sterile trays of medical instruments. His heart kicked up and he strained against the straps, jerking, felt his shoulders wrench as he struggled.

The figure closest to him wrapped a yellow band around his bicep, tight; it snapped into place and stung.

"What are you doing? Where's Kate?"

Two white-gloved fingers tapped the crook of his elbow; he wriggled in the seat just to make it hard for them, felt the other suit press down against his chest, hold his arm down.

"Where's Kate? Tell me where she is!"

His voice rattled his face, made every sound feel like a jackhammer against his bones. There was a swipe of an antiseptic pad; a rubber ball was placed in his hand. Castle chucked it as far as he could; the suit pressing down on his chest shoved a little. He groaned at the puncture of a needle, glanced down to see the white suit taking his blood.

"Vampires, then?" he tried to joke, felt his nose and face throbbing. "Where's Kate? What have you done to her? Where is she?"

The one at his elbow taped the line down to his skin, checked the bag, and then both of them were leaving.

"Hey!"

The buzz.

"Hey! What have you done with Kate?"

The door slid back.

"Tell me where she is!"

They were gone.

Castle breathed hard, felt his head spin, glanced down at the blood moving out of his arm, slowly because he wasn't flexing, wasn't squeezing the damn ball, leaned back again, closing his eyes.

God._ Kate._

* * *

><p>They came back to switch out the bags.<p>

He asked. They didn't answer.

He asked. He kept asking.

White silence.

* * *

><p>After the second bag, the line was pulled out, a cotton ball placed over the injection site, a band-aid slapped on. A band-aid. A fluorescent green band-aid, as if someone had gone to the pharmacy and, on a whim, picked out a box of neon colors. A person. Not just a white suit.<p>

What the hell?

He watched, observed, kept silent this time. Two suited figures - people - cleaned things up, put the bags of blood in a cooler, and then pulled something out.

He saw the needle the second before it jabbed into the side of his neck.

He cursed, felt already his vision wavering. "In the neck? Damn it, guys. Last time - last time it was just. . .only my thigh. . ."

Words slipped out, away, down.

* * *

><p>He turned his head again, saw the wall, untouched. Felt it bump his forehead. He touched his forehead, felt the textured wall.<p>

His hands were free. His hands were free and so.

And so.

An effort to coordinate. Still, the strap at his chest was tight, too tight, but he could fumble his fingers along the edge of it until he made out the metal buckle, the plastic of the release-

He wheezed and lifted up, the straps falling away, sucked in a breath that choked him, had him doubled over even as the clots in his nose gave way and blood trickled down the back of his throat again.

He touched his nose, lightly, realized they'd cleaned up his face, must have put ice on it as well, because the skin was still clammy. Sometime after they'd taken two bags of his blood.

How long had he been out? His face a mess of agony, but he knew from past fistfights that this was nothing to what the pain should be. The drugs. The cold compress over his nose, what else?

The pain blended, mellowed, eased just a fraction. He reached down and unbuckled the straps above his knees, then scooted down, wincing, to get at the straps around his feet.

They could have kept his arms pinned, but they hadn't. Which meant they wanted to let him go free, hadn't before because. . .

because his face was a mess and he'd been throwing a hell of a tantrum. And they needed his blood. Wanted it. Infected.

They came for her first. "Kate."

His vision swam when he stood. He shuffled to the door, the silver disc, rammed his finger into the button.

"Tell me where she is," he yelled out, shattering the fragile peace of his face. Something in his jaw cracked, or maybe his nose, and he felt his knees buckle, hit the floor.

Shit. His face. Darkness swam back, but he closed his eyes, head between his legs, breathed through his mouth.

The door buzzed.

He couldn't find the balance to jump up or even crawl away, could only watch as the door slid back, smooth and cold and-

white.

The figure raised a hand, almost a caution, then beckoned. Castle got to his feet, gripped the doorjamb as he came through, waited, was patient.

They held all the power.

"Follow." The white voice came, and he followed it into the hall, down, trembling with exhaustion. What was the time? How long - how long out, how long in the white, how long in the black?

Another door opened, right beside the room where they'd taken his blood, a blank white, two cots, MREs in their box. No Kate. But the sight of the room was strangely like home; he yearned towards it, but he wanted Kate.

The voice again. "Wait."

Why? Why from one room to the next with no explanation? "Tell me where she is. Let me see her."

"Wait."

"No." He remained in the hall, away from the suited figures and whatever needles they might have, on his toes, wary, aware. The edges of his vision were still fuzzy; it was a battle to focus his eyes.

The voice again, through the muffled suit. "Wait."

"No. Kate. Bring me to Kate."

A visor regarding him, silence.

From the end of the hall, rounding the T-junction, came another white suit, this one with deadly accuracy and purpose. He took another step back, healthy distance, waited.

From a few feet away, the white suit stopped, regarding him maybe, or listening to some voice from a speaker in its visor. Then a hand, a gesture to come, and Castle did.

Just. They just had to take him to Kate. He'd play nice; he'd give blood. He just needed Kate.

He couldn't do this without her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>She licked her lips.<p>

Groaned as she felt the black leave her. Lids too heavy. Bones ached. Knees were still drawn up to her chest; she wasn't sure she could uncurl them. The tast of blood in her mouth.

Blood.

Kate jerked awake, grunted as she rolled over, fell to the floor, but she had to put her head between her knees and breathe. Her back spasmed.

"Follow."

_Shit_.

She jumped at the voice and stumbled even as she tried to rise, watched the white biohazard suit head for the door. It buzzed loudly, echoing in her head, and slid back.

Kate's legs wouldn't hold. She grit her teeth and locked her knees, forcing her body to obey, pushing off the cot. Back ached. First time they'd been in here since. . .

She swallowed and pushed it down, away. Into the box with everything else.

Beckett followed.

* * *

><p>Not their old room.<p>

Her heart sank as she followed the suit past the door, felt her eyes burn.

God, she just wanted-

T-Junction, turned left this time. Left to where all the other suits were. Her heart was racing, but she didn't have the strength left in her body to support that; her hands and feet tingled as she began to shake.

"Wait," she called out, hated herself for asking for anything, leaned her shoulder against the wall.

She had to stop, had to. . .

Kate slid down the wall, put her head between her knees, closed her eyes. Just breathe. Out and in. She had to be strong, had to keep it together if she was going to get out of here. Find Castle, get out of here. It'd been her mantra throughout everything. Find him, get out.

She wasn't going to be making any great escape if her body shut down after a walk of a couple feet and the unfortunate pounding of her heart.

A white-suited hand clenched around her upper arm, yanked her up. So this one was a man, then, even though the figure was shorter than her. Upper body strength, to pull her up like this.

If this one was a man, then she knew where exactly to aim her first kick.

The thought bolstered her; she got her feet under her, grit her teeth to keep from swaying. She'd walk. She'd do this, damn them. Her back spasmed and she jerked, but he kept hold of her long enough for her to regain her balance. She still felt the sticky iodine on her back, plastering her shirt to her skin.

White suit walked ahead of her again, as if to prove he could, prove her weak. She chewed relentlessly on her inside lip and focused all her remaining strength on taking one step after another.

Her body felt a wreck, but she was strong; she'd recover. She would find him; they'd get the hell out of here. Regardless of the possible contamination.

Contamination.

Oh God. Oh God, she was-

Beckett shoved it away, stuffed it down tight, deep, in the hole, the dark hole, where everything went. All of it.

She was strong.

White suit stopped in front of a door; it buzzed - did the buzzer get shorter every time she heard it? - and the door slid back.

A bewildering riot of color, and then she was being shoved from behind, over the threshold and the door slid home, trapping her inside.

* * *

><p>"Kate?"<p>

The color detached itself and came for her; she was crushed in arms, his voice, his body around her and she swayed, knees crumpling, but he held her up.

"It's you," she whispered, and even though she couldn't move, he held on so tightly, it was okay. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

His laugh was strangled. "Kate. God, Kate."

"I'm okay." She shook her head against him, against skin, warm and good, but her eyes were closed; she tried to squeeze her arm around his waist but she couldn't. "They took some blood."

He grunted. "More than that."

She lifted her head, opened her eyes, saw in him the knowledge, terrible knowledge. "Castle."

"I saw. From the monitor."

His eyes tracked past her, then his head turned and she looked. The color coalesced, formed a picture that jumped to another the second she saw it. People. In hospital beds.

"Castle?"

"Ten seconds of video feed from each room. After a minute and thirty seconds, I'd see. . .your room."

Oh God. With her knees drawn up and the needle. Hopefully her face was away from the camera. Please, God. She knew she'd been mostly soundless.

"Kate."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. They did a spinal tap."

She shivered violently, unable to stop it, and his arms around her tightened, thankfully nowhere near her lower back. Where it still ached brutally.

"Tell me the truth."

"So tired, Castle," she murmured, laying her head against his shoulder and breathing out. His bare skin rippled.

"Okay," he whispered back, and she felt him move, startled by it. But he was only sinking down to the floor, drawing her with him until he was leaning back against the wall and she could rest against him.

It felt good. Finally, her body eased. And it allowed her mind to work.

"Ten seconds. Me every minute and a half? That's 9 other people in here," she said, but she didn't lift her head, didn't think she could. She was doing good just working out the math.

His hand came to her hair, stroking, and then she didn't want to move, wanted to stay here with her eyes closed, his warm body under hers. Ignore all else, even the nine other people.

"Various stages of this disease. Whatever it is. They're all infected."

She blinked, opened her eyes, saw the arm circling her and the band-aid pressed into the crook of his elbow. She drew her hand out from under her, fumbled at his skin, touched the edge of the band-aid with a finger.

"They drew blood from you too."

A murmured assent in his chest. She remembered then and lifted her head, saw his face.

"Your nose?"

"Gave me something for it, after they took some blood. Mostly okay. Just throbs."

He was silent, seemed to know that she was trying to process, trying to get back in the game. "Nine people infected. On the monitor."

"Yes."

"Any-" She swallowed hard, squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, ready. "Anyone we know?"

He shook his head.

She started to look at the monitor, but Castle put his hand to her jaw, prevented her. "You shouldn't look."

She stared at him, at his shirtless chest, and it clicked. "You hung your shirt over the monitor."

He nodded. "For a minute and thirty seconds."

Until she'd shown up onscreen. And then he'd taken it down to watch. Only they'd pushed her in here with him.

"Castle-"

"You shouldn't look, Kate."

But she had to.

* * *

><p>He was right. It was bad.<p>

She did each person the honor of bearing witness, and then Castle hung his scrub shirt back over the monitor. She sat in the floor, leaning forward, her arms on her knees as she watched him come sit back down beside her.

Shirtless. Her mouth was dry.

_Correlation is not causation, Kate_.

She'd probably be blushing if she had the strength, the blood left to blush.

And then his arms came around her and pulled her over to him and she was leaning against him, all over again, the warm skin under her cheek. She curled her fingers at his waist, sighed. Castle pressed his mouth to the top of her head and stayed there; she could hear him breathing her in.

"You have a theory," she said finally, breaking the silence.

"Yeah."

"So?"

He cleared his throat; she felt it in her collarbone, traveling down to her ribs, vibrating her heart.

"In the Congo, 1995, there was an outbreak of the Ebola virus."

"In Africa." He smelled like sweat and fear, this close, but under that, himself. Still himself.

"With no effective means of prevention, or treatment, whole blood from recovering patients was used to treat eight victims."

"Holy shit." Kate lifted her head, felt her back twinge as she stared at him.

His eyes were drawn to the screen, she could tell; he wasn't looking at her. "Seven of those victims survived. One died. Ebola has an eighty percent mortality rate, so the assumption is-"

"That the antibodies from the recovering patients actually helped."

He nodded. She was glad he'd put his shirt back over the monitor; obviously, he couldn't look away.

"That's what they're doing to us," she said slowly.

"To you." He nodded. "It's a theory."

"Spinal fluid?" she murmured, knitting her eyebrows as she sat up.

"Greatest concentration maybe? I don't know. My medical knowledge isn't that extensive." His arms were still around her, but they loosened, let her go.

She glanced to the monitor - covered, sightless - and was glad he'd done it as well. For her own sake.

"I. .if they'd asked. . ."

He nodded. "Yeah."

She'd have done it willingly. If they'd asked. "Passive immunity," she murmured, shook her head. "But I thought-"

She didn't finish it, but she saw he knew. His hand curled into a fist between them and she took it, wrapped her fingers around the hard ridge of his knuckles.

"It's possible that - when you showed signs?"

Kate watched him struggle with it, didn't know what else to do. To help.

"They came and got you. Separated us."

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. She'd had a fever too, and her body had ached all over, and-

"But you didn't, you don't. . .you're okay."

"And you?" she said softly, fingers now circling his wrist and tugging his arm into her lap, cradling it.

He shrugged. "I feel fine."

"They took your blood too?"

He nodded. "Not much. Not as much as you, apparently."

She tried to remember. She'd blacked out. They'd given her an IV, but she thought maybe it was just fluids. Not drugs. "Some," she hedged.

He nodded, but he brought both hands to her wrists, held her arms out away from her body. "Two needle marks."

She glanced down, surprised. "Oh."

"They took. . .a lot," he said, not really a question.

Oh.

She met his eyes, nodded once. "I passed out."

"You're too small to lose that much blood, Kate." His face was twisted; she shook off his grip on her wrist to curl her fingers around his neck, lean in against him. The flesh of her arms meeting the flesh of his chest, entirely too warm, appealing. She wanted to stay.

"I'm okay."

She felt him suck in a long breath, his arm coming around her back. She scooted closer to ease the ache in her spine, one knee behind him, one pressed at his thigh as he sat against the wall. His hand came to her nape, his fingers in her hair.

He kissed her temple, his mouth light, reverent. She could feel his breath skirting her skin, feel it all over.

"Kate," he said, and the brokenness in his voice made her ache.

"I'm okay." She wrapped her other arm around him, her cheek at his collarbone, forehead against his neck. She let her fingers trace the sharp line of his shoulder blade. "I'm okay."

He was taking deep, stuttering breaths that came right across her ear; she knew he was struggling to keep it together.

So Kate turned her head, her cheek brushing his chin, and pressed her mouth against his.

She kissed him until he stopped shaking.


	8. Chapter 8

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>"Well, if you weren't infected before, you are now," she panted.<p>

Castle laughed and drew his hands up her back, tangled in her hair. "There's that."

She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to the base of his throat; he knew she could feel him swallow hard.

"You're very still," she murmured, and her hand slid up between them, her thumb at his chin.

"You've lost a lot of blood," he said back, struggling to keep from mauling her. "Otherwise."

She made a noise, a little sigh that puffed across his collarbone. "Don't let that stop you."

He brushed his fingers at the back of her neck, saw bruises at the exposed skin, let it stop him. "Kate."

She shivered hard; he felt her knees strike his ribs, tried to ease a hand down her thigh. She sucked in a breath. "My legs hurt. Like shards of ice for bone."

She was cold under his hands, her skin like stone, hard and chilled. He let go of her with a brush of his thumb at her jaw, tried to help her stand.

He could see her sway, but he ignored it, pretended to ignore it, to keep her moving at his side. He forced her to make a circuit of the room before she pulled away from him, an amused confusion stamped on her face.

"What are we doing Castle?"

"Best to walk it off," he replied, keeping her going.

She raised an eyebrow and he knew, could tell from the flicker at the back of her eyes that she was thinking about how she'd kissed him. Walking *that* off.

"Spinal tap," he murmured. "So it doesn't stiffen up."

Her lips quirked. That flash of her personality, the strength of her features meeting the smirking humor of her eyes, it pushed all his buttons, compromised the thin hold he had over his control.

"Really? Well that's not exactly what I was going for," she murmured. And that did it.

He leaned in, pressing her slowly against the wall, her shoulders hitting the flat white surface first. He put a hand low at her spine, carefully, kept her back from touching the wall, kept the weight of his body mostly away from her.

When she breathed in sharply, her breasts brushed his chest, that smirk loosening up, melting into a liquid flow of arousal.

She winced, back arching, when his hand accidentally shifted too close to the lumbar puncture, but she shook off his apology, canted her hips towards his, her hands wrapped around his biceps for leverage.

"Okay like this?" he breathed, bringing his mouth within hovering distance of hers.

She leaned her head back against the wall, looked in his eyes. "Okay."

He chased, felt her nose nuzzling the side of his, her cheek against him. He angled his head into hers to brush his lips along her jaw, touched his tongue to the soft skin of her earlobe.

She kissed him first, again, nursing his bottom lip, surprising him with the nudge of her teeth before pressing into the corner of his mouth. He chased again, centered their lips, slant and heat, felt her fingers feather at his cheek as if to hold him there.

He drew his hands up to capture her jaw, needing skin, forgetting, and he felt her body jerk and withdraw, felt her ragged breath, the claw of her nails at his neck.

"Kate," he murmured, pulling her away from the wall and into his body, knowing it wasn't much better. She curled around him, her cheek on his shoulder, breathing hard.

He tried for humor to ease the rictus of her bowed spine. "Thoroughly infected now."

She sucked in a breath, pulled her head slowly back from him. "Thoroughly." She started to give him a smile, maybe it was a smile, but then it fell apart. She gaped at him, lifted a hand to her mouth, pushed back.

"Kate?" He didn't want to grab for her, afraid of doing more damage, but she was about to hit the wall again. His fingers caught her shoulder, tugged her away. "Hey."

"That's. . .the reason," she murmured, closed her eyes briefly as if pained just looking at him.

"What's the reason?"

"You weren't sick. I was sick. I am sick. Castle-"

"You're not sick. You're fine," he said, shaking his head at her. Insistent.

"No. I am. Think it through, think-" She lifted a hand to her temple, eyes slipping shut again. "Don't make me yell at you. My head hurts."

He laughed at that, felt a little bit better for hearing it. "Don't say stupid things, then."

"I'm infected. I had a fever, chills. Still have the chills-"

"Blood loss," he countered. "And you don't know you had a fever. It's guesswork."

"But they took more of my blood than they did yours. Spinal fluid. I have antibodies, Castle. You only get antibodies if you're fighting off a disease."

His chest eased. "Okay. Fine. You're fighting it off. I don't understand-"

"I was sick. You weren't." She laid her hand over his lips to shut him up or keep him there, he wasn't sure. Her eyes closed again, pain on her face, before she could look at him again. "But now?"

But now. Oh.

"Oh." He blinked, pulled his mouth from her fingers, grabbed her hand. "Kate."

"No more swapping bodily fluids, Castle."

No.

His chest ached.

"Kate."

"If you didn't get it before, maybe you won't now."

"Kate, please don't." He squeezed her fingers, tried to draw her closer.

"We're not the same blood type, Castle. So while I'd willingly let them drain every last drop from my body to save your life. . .I don't know that it would do you any good."

"I can't stop now," he moaned, leaning forward and wrapping both arms around her upper back, her neck, cradling her. "Don't make me-"

He felt her hand at his neck, cold and soothing. "Not saying you can't stay close," she murmured. "I want you close. Stay."

Castle shivered, closed his eyes as relief drowned him; he had to turn and slump back against the wall, cushioning her against him as he did. He swallowed back whatever undignified pleading was still trapped in his throat, leaned his head back.

"Your heart's racing," she whispered.

He didn't answer, couldn't. Could only breathe and hold her and try not to think.

She left him to his silence, didn't try to move out of the tight circle of his arms until Castle himself loosened his grip. Only then did she lift up from his chest, ease her hips against his as if to brace him there.

He blinked, lifted an eyebrow at her, an entirely new sensation building heat in his blood. "I think I'm getting a fever," he murmured, staring down at her.

She frowned. "Not funny."

"If I said a fever for more cowbell, would that be funny?"

"No," she huffed, but he could see the tightly pressed smile, the spark of light in her eyes.

"It was funny. You're laughing."

"Do you hear me laughing, Castle?"

He tilted his head as if he were listening, then nodded eagerly. "I do. I hear it."

She let him have a little eye roll, but winced and dropped her head to his shoulder. He let his fingers brush her spine, slide through the soft hair at the nape of her neck.

"Kate."

"Just a headache."

"From the spinal tap," he said. "Fluid leaks out. Low pressure causes the headache."

"I don't want to stand up anymore," she said faintly.

"Oh, okay. Okay." He bent his knees, started sliding down the wall, felt her legs give way at the same moment. It wasn't catching her so much as giving her a controlled descent. "This okay?"

She nodded, curled into a fetal position in the v of his legs. He avoided her lower back, gripped her thigh, her shoulder, let her breathe deeply against his chest.

Kate reached up and made a fist in the neck of his scrub top. "I don't want to get you sick, Castle."

"I won't get sick. Didn't before. Won't now."

"That's why they put us back together, you know," she said, her voice low, speaking straight into his neck. "Hoping I'd infect you. Hoping they could use your antibodies if you manage to fight it off."

"Maybe I'm already infected anyway. Maybe I just didn't present with symptoms. I did that to Alexis once."

"What? Did what to Alexis?"

"I was carrying strep, but I never got sick with it. She got it over and over the winter of. . .I think it was sixth grade. Kept getting it, couldn't get rid of it. They tested me, and I had it. Gave me a shot, gave her a shot, and neither of us have had strep since."

"This isn't strep throat, Castle."

"I know," he said with a sigh. "I know. But if I keep thinking about it like. . .like it is, it just might freak me out."

"I think I'm already freaked out," she said softly, lifted her arm to hook around his neck. She was still cold, her skin chilled against him.

He gripped her thigh, wished he could warm her up. "Head still hurt?"

She made a noise against his throat, mewling that broke her voice.

"Take that as a yes," he sighed. "I really just want to kiss you. Can I do that?" He didn't wait for her to answer, just brushed his lips along her temple, hoping to leach the pain out of her skin, into his own.

"Can you?" she murmured back, her mouth hesitating at the underside of his jaw. "I don't know if I can."

"I've stopped following the conversation," he admitted, feathered his mouth at her eyelid so that she had to close it, her lashes making dark stripes against the pale skin.

Her puff of laughter against his neck made him shiver; his mouth found her cheek, the hard prominence of bone, and because he couldn't have her mouth, he sucked at it instead, teeth nipping, his tongue a balm, lips conforming to the ridge of her cheek.

Her hand gripped his neck, her body rising up into his, uncurling, and he almost took a kiss, almost, but diverted to her ear instead.

"I don't know if I can either," he gruffed and held her to him, eyes closed, trying to keep from wanting every last inch of her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>She felt it return slowly, a trickle of awareness climbing her back like a parasite. It was then that she understood that whatever dull and formless agony her back might be in now was nothing compared to what it should be. Would be.<p>

Very soon now.

Standing hurt. So did sitting. That wasn't - she didn't have to think about those things, because for the most part, it just resided there, the dulled knife's edge of pain.

But then came flamethrowers to the kerosene of her limbic system, spreading wildfire along her central nervous system, her very dendrites curling like shriveling leaves in a controlled burn, her peripheral axons smoked to ashes.

She gasped against his neck and clutched his shoulder, felt her legs stop working. She sagged.

"Whoa, Kate. Hey. What's wrong?"

She shook her head, pressed her lips together to keep back the noise of her own body's rebellion.

"Kate. Kate, what's going on?"

He touched his fingers to her upper back, her spine, and she arched, heard the strangled noise in her throat but could do nothing to stop it.

"Sorry. So sorry. Where does it hurt?"

How could she say

_Everywhere._

* * *

><p>Castle pulled her to her feet again, kept a hand under her elbows, walked backwards slowly around the room, tugging her forward. He couldn't think of anything else to do but make her walk. He didn't even know if it was true, that she should walk it off, he just felt that maybe it would relieve whatever pressure was building up in her spine, work the muscles that were clenching and spasming.<p>

But fluid was leaking from the puncture wound in her lower back. He could feel it at her waistband; it stained her shirt. That couldn't be good. Low levels of spinal fluid meant what? He didn't know, he really had no idea. His medical knowledge was limited to dead bodies and autopsies, stippling and rigor, and even that was secondhand, well-researched, but still secondhand.

"Kate?" he murmured.

She leaned in, her forehead against his; he felt her body slow.

"Kate, does this help at all?"

"I don't know," she said finally.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked, brushed his hand over the back of her head.

"Just." She paused; she was quiet so long that he wondered if she'd fallen asleep against him, but then she jerked, teeth rattling hard, and he realized she was unable to talk through the pain.

It was that bad.

"Kate, love, tell me what you need."

She was trembling now; he caught her hands in one of his, pressed them against his chest, knew she could feel the frantic pound of his heart.

"Ca-Castle," she gulped, lifted her head from his breastbone, her body swaying, eyes too dark, too large in her face. "Need. Need to sit."

"Okay. Okay," he murmured and immediately sank to the floor, wishing for the cots, wishing for pain pills, wishing, wishing-

She tremored in his hands, but her arm curled around his neck, brought herself closer, her mouth panting against his ear.

"How's this?" he murmured, an arm under her knees to help bring them up to her chest, cradling the back of her head. Seemed to be the only places he could touch that didn't make her cry out.

"Good, good," she panted, breathed through it. But she didn't sound good.

He stroked his hand through her hair, Kate cradled against his chest, his shoulder blades to the wall, rocking her back and forth slowly. After an endless procession of seconds, minutes, days, where her eyes were so tightly shut and her body tense to the breaking point, she eased a palm to his chest, her fingers trembling.

"Any. . .better?"

"Hard to think," she whispered, her lids floating open. Pain swam in their dark depths.

"God, Kate-"

Her fingers hooked in the neck of his shirt; she turned into him, her face against his chest. He thought, maybe, that it was possible he felt her tears damp against his skin through his shirt. A lot of tears. He didn't ask.

With his legs crossed, her body fitting awkwardly in his lap, he slid his palm up and down her arm, slowly working warmth back into her skin. She gave a low sound in her throat that sounded more like relief than pain, and her knees loosened a little.

He curled over her, pressed his mouth to her cheek, soft, hovering there for a moment until he felt her fingers unfurl against his skin in permission.

The hand at the back of her neck brought her up to him; he let his mouth wander down her jaw, back to her ear. He tongued the soft skin at her earlobe, felt her nails brush lightly against his throat. Her other hand sought the waistband of his scrubs; her cold fingers buried there, warming slowly.

Her legs started to twitch; he could feel her muscles cramping. "Should we walk?"

She shook her head, over and over; he felt her teeth brush his collarbone.

"Kate?"

"Minute," she mumbled, and he wasn't sure if she meant she needed a minute more, or if she could only handle a minute. Her hand came up and stilled against his cheek, as if to hold him in place.

"Kate."

"Minute more of this," she said and he felt her teeth at his shirt, into skin, then the wet damp of her tongue, the suction of her mouth.

He choked on a breath, blinked through the rush of sensation, looked down at her, bewildered, entrapped.

She snaked her hand around his neck, her eyes smiling but cracked, leaking darkness out into the room.

"Kiss me until it hurts again," she said, and drew his mouth to her neck.

Her teeth found his jaw, began to do erotic damage.

* * *

><p>She felt her knees give way again, clutched at his arm to keep from collapsing. "No, no more. Can't. I can't."<p>

He stopped, held her up against him, but she shook her head, needed to be in the floor, down. Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart, her brain ready to push out of her skull and splatter across the walls. Even his mouth against her forehead didn't do any good, only added to the agony scraping salt into every last lesion inside of her, open and weeping, like her blood was filled with blades that kept filleting her, piece by piece.

"Okay, okay, hush," he murmured against her skin, easing down, and she realized she was keening, that the noise in her head was coming out of her mouth, desperate and uncontrollable. "I got you, I got you. Kate. Kate, please."

She curled up tight, the tighter she got, the more it eased, until her thighs were at her chest, her eye sockets pressed into her knees. She chewed on the material of her pants, grinding her teeth into it to keep from making any noise, making it worse.

"Kate, Kate, God, what's wrong?"

It wasn't enough. Not enough. She gnawed on her knee, felt the sharpness of her teeth against her bone for a moment, a brief flash in which nothing else in her body was aware. For that one moment, the jolt of nerves to her kneecap washed clean everything else, a finite space of clear and beautiful nothing, and then her back was liquid fire, spreading agony down through her limbs, into every red blood cell, into every pore, coming out of her like magma, an eruption of brutality.

He left her on the floor; she pressed her thumb between her teeth and bit down. The moment was smaller, harder to grasp; the vicious and sustained attack of her spinal column came over her in a wave and she moaned, let it out, cried it out, out-

"I need help! You have to help!"

She pressed her face into the floor, her forehead hard into the white tile, hearing her own skull crunch as she tried to push it all back in, hold herself together, let it not cleave her straight through. Again, press again, and the thud of her head hitting the floor was sharp and startling, knocking everything out of focus, blessed, momentary numbness only to come back again to the grip of pain.

She hit her head again, again, shocks of white in the midst of black, beats of blankness, a sustained note of nothing-

From the end of a tunnel, a long way off, she heard him yelling at the door, the round disc, his voice broken and pleading, but her mind was clashing steel and the sound of tile on bone, her bones, breaking her apart.

* * *

><p>He let them take her. He let them take her.<p>

He asked them to take her, begged them, abased himself if only they would take her.

Help her.

They led him back to the white room, with the two empty cots, the box of MREs, the deck of playing cards, a stack of scrubs. He sat down heavily and stared at his hands, alone.

When she had started beating her head against the wall, when not even his voice brought her out of it-

He let them take her.

He had no assurances they were actually helping her, no promises that he'd see her again. But she'd been on the floor, gnawing on her own hand, moans so deep and visceral that it ripped out his sanity to hear her. Whatever pain killers they'd given her after the lumbar puncture - and they had to have given her drugs, for her to have been as okay as she was and then descended into the madness of agony - whatever they'd given her had worn off.

And then the hypnotic and sickening tattoo of her head against the floor.

He'd do anything to make her okay.

Castle swallowed and put his head in his hands, tried to breathe through the thickness in his throat, the suffocation of his chest.

He let them take her.

She was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>Ohhh. . .was good.<p>

Good stuff.

The wavering, the tremulous curve, the slope slipping down into silver light, mercurial bliss-oblivion.

Mmmm. . .Castle.

His fingers at her elbow, heavy, leaking his warmth into her, dripping relief, the suffusion of love.

Her mouth opened, tongue thick, and her body obeyed her as if translating her message from a shaky morse code, all jerky dots and slumping dashes, until she was finally on her side, curled around her immobile left arm where his fingers pressed, the good stuff, her blood stuffed with cotton and her mouth with marshmallows, and if they kissed now, it would be so sweet.

_Thank God._

* * *

><p>When she opened her eyes again, buffeted at the top of the sky, she felt his finger in the crook of her arm, felt the warmth of him radiating from that spot and out, trickling down into her bones.<p>

She turned her head slowly, trying not to jostle the delicate balance her brain seemed to have reached with her pain, turned to look at him.

But it wasn't him. He wasn't there.

It was an IV.

* * *

><p>She was staring at the blank ceiling when the door buzzed; she opened her eyes, realized <em>no<em>, she hadn't been awake, the inscape of her eyelids was the same white of the room. The door opened. She didn't have the reflexes to startle, but her eyes widened when four in white suits came through and picked up the edges of the sheet, carried her out.

Just like that.

She swayed down the corridor, the sheet's four corners held by a different white glove, the rhythm of their walk not in sync, jarring her body. But the IV came with her, the drugs came with her; she was fine.

She had her eyes closed when the sheet was lowered to the cot, jerked them open, couldn't keep them there. She was in and out, sliding over the slippery line between conscious and unconscious, permeable and permissive.

Her name. The cluttered panic of her name, too sharp, and she was heavy, too heavy for this.

She heard the rushing of a body coming close, even as the others departed, struggled to hold on to the other side of silver, to come back, but even as his hand closed around hers, even as his fingertips brushed her jaw and his kiss burned her cheek, she was slipping.

* * *

><p>They gave her back.<p>

To say he was surprised was not. . .enough.

They laid her on the cot and left, the hush of the door closing, and he dropped to his knees beside her, touched her, felt the warmth returning to his fingers, felt his heart restart its rhythm. An IV had been hooked to her left arm, the tube taped to the crook of her elbow; her eyelids fluttered and then sank down. The IV bag was hooked on a metal pole that had been driven into a slot at the head of the cot.

As if it had been done before. As if the cots had been made for this.

He scooted closer, kissed her forehead, the curve of her cheekbone, rested his fingertips at the ridge of her clavicle, the heel of his hand at her sternum; he could feel the reassuring thump of her heart, slow but definitely there. He kept his other hand around her left, brought it up, minding the IV, to kiss the backs of her fingers, press those fingers to his cheek.

Good thing she was unconscious. She'd never let him hover like this if she were awake.

They'd given her back.

He kissed her thumb, rolled the nail against his lips, scraped his teeth over her knuckle, licked her thumbprint. Her eyelids floated up, lashes parting slowly, revealing the dark, dilated curve of her pupils. He murmured her name against her hand but she wasn't really here; the awareness was gone. Still her eyes soaked him in, regardless, drank him up, filling the dark relief with an alive and shining brown, ripples of green like moss growing on rocks submerged in a riverbed.

And then she was with him and her lips tightened into a smile.

"Hey," he rasped, felt his own voice like velcro, hard to unstick from the ragged hour.

"Mm."

"You okay now?"

"Good." Her throat worked, her head tilting back before her eyes rolled to his. "Good stuff."

He grinned and lifted his fingers from her collarbone to tap against her jaw, stroke along the soft skin that sloped to her neck. "I'm glad. You look better."

He said that, but her skin was waxy, yellowed around her eyes and mouth. He wondered if they'd taken more blood. Now that she'd been given drugs, they probably wouldn't draw blood, would they? So maybe they hadn't give her pain killers earlier because they'd needed a few more bags.

Didn't matter. She was back. She was here. She'd be okay.

She hummed again, sighed. Her hand came up to fumble at his under her jaw; he let their fingers lace together, but she didn't seem to want that. Kate shook him off, slowly, comically, and then she wrapped her hand around his wrist and brought her mouth to his palm. His hand encompassed her lower jaw, his fingers touched her ear; he let his thumb stroke the skin beside her lips. She sighed against him, her breath slipping between his knuckles.

"Kate?" he said gently.

Her eyes closed. "Mm, love you too, Castle."

The door's buzzer sounded. His heart stopped.

The door opened; now there were eight piling into the room, quick efficient. He saw a needle and jerked back.

_love you too castle_

"Don't need that. You let me stay with her, I'll go wherever you want. Don't-" He raised his arm as if to block a blow, hunched over her.

The eight stopped as one; he breathed hard, in and out, felt Kate's slower breath against his cheek. He looked up. They each tilted their heads, as if listening to the hive mind.

_love you too_

The needle was withdrawn, disappeared, and he sat up straighter, let out a shaky sigh. At a gesture from one he stood, waited while four of them picked her up again by the sheet, unsticking the IV pole from the metal frame. He hovered close until a white elbow jarred him aside, then followed them out the door. Grateful.

He heard the door close behind him, felt the four men at his back, himself alone, a buoy between them and the four carrying Kate. The IV bag swayed as they walked; his heart thundered.

_love you_

He clenched his fists, kept his eyes on her form, thin and yellow inside the scrubs, her knees twisted and drawn up slightly. When her eyelashes fluttered, the shadows flickering, he stepped closer, wrapped his fingers around her foot.

Castle held on until she found him, squeezed, shook her big toe. Her face was a mixture of confusion and joy. Good stuff, indeed.

Her mouth opened; her tongue darted to wet her lips. He smiled, wide, happy for some stupid reason, if only maybe because he was with her here, they were letting him stay.

The joy in her face dimmed. Her finger flicked up, eyes suddenly swimming. He thought _hurts?_ but she was looking over his shoulder and in that moment, he realized, knew, _stupid-_

Like the clones in white had ever really cared? Like they wouldn't do exactly as they wanted with him.

And then the needle bit into his neck, damn it, and her eyes on his breaking open, filling, his knees rushing with water, crumbling the sand castle of his consciousness, her mouth moving on a sound he couldn't hear but knew, in his guts, the word-

_love_


	11. Chapter 11

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>She hurt.<p>

Dry mouth. Chapped, cracking lips. Swallowing was like sliding down a razor blade.

She blinked awake, heavy-lidded, her body cold.

Putting her tongue to her bleeding lip, she opened her eyes only to be flooded with confusion - too bright, too noisy, too much.

The tv was on, chattering just under her range of decibel comprehension; the curtain half-pulled around the bed; the heart monitor like an alarm that wouldn't snooze.

Kate didn't feel good. The weight of the thin blanket pressed into her chest like a restraint. There was no hand around hers, no finger at the crook of her elbow, no smile waiting for her opened eyes.

She tried to breathe past it, startled when the door crashed open.

"Yo, she's awake!"

Her field of vision swam, she couldn't process the two, three people crowding into the room. Her throat worked to speak but she flinched when a face loomed overhead.

"Beckett?"

Dark eyes searched hers and she dragged the thing up, the name, summoned it with force of will.

"Espo." Her voice cracked.

"Yeah, yeah, where the hell have you been?"

She closed her eyes, raised a shaky hand from the bedside railing (when did she grip them?), shadowed her eyes with her trembling fingers.

"Boss?"

Ryan. Esposito and Ryan and-

Someone.

"I - I don't know."

"Amnesia?" Esposito turned and glanced behind him; the man was in shadows, two hands around a chart.

"There's-"

"No." Kate shook her head, winced, pressed her hand down into the bridge of her nose then dropped it to see her team. "I remember." But even as she said it, the thing was hazy. "White room. And-"

"Where were you-"

"Where's Castle?" she said instead, put her hands on either side of her to try and lift up.

Ryan darted forward and tried to press her back down; she glared at him and he jumped back, stuttering.

"There's - the bed - it lifts. You're not supposed to-"

"Detective, if I may?" The third man stepped into view, gestured to the control box, then thumbed the button to incline the head of the bed.

When she raised up, her head drummed fiercely, but she ignored it. "What. Where is Castle?"

"Down the hall. Sleeping it off," Esposito said. "Where the hell did you two go?"

She slowly shook her head, important information now sliding into place, her mind gathering back together. "There's - Damn. I've been infected. You guys need to clear out-"

"We ran blood tests the moment you showed up," the third man said. "No need to worry. You've got traces of antibodies, but you're not virulent."

Okay, okay, but-

"Castle," she breathed, lifted her eyes to Esposito, who would tell her straight, who wouldn't even need to tell her, just one look at him- "Is he?"

His eyes were clear. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned her head back. Her spine and down into her legs was a symphony of pain, an orchestra of violence in her head. But Castle was okay.

"What was it? Is it?" she said, lifting her cool hand to her forehead again, hiding her eyes from the too-bright light.

"A variant of the Hantavirus," the third man said. "I'm Dr. Benton, a virologist here at NYU Langone Medical Center."

Langone Medical. Castle. Castle said-

"It's actually an engineered strain of the New York Virus. Hemorrhagic fever. Thankfully, the group that created this variant changed the incubation period to a mere two hours, and the life cycle of the virus is only eight in total. So you're well past that."

"How long were we missing?" she asked, swallowing past the dryness of her throat.

"Eight hours," Ryan said grimly, eyes shifting away from her.

"And how long have I been here?" she persisted, licking her bottom lip, tasting blood.

"Four."

Jeez.

"I'm going to review your medical condition, Detective. So if these two will step outside-"

She shot Esposito a look and he gathered Ryan.

When they were gone, she let her shoulders slump but that was all. The time for being weak was over.

"So," she said.

"HFRS has been in the US since 1993, Detective. In 2010, New Mexico had 84 cases. This isn't unconquerable, and it's not as rare as one might like. That being said, it is serious."

She waited, ignoring the build-up, _the story_, wanting only the information pertinent to her particular case.

"Thankfully, whatever strain this is - was - it's done only minimal damage to your heart."

"My heart? My heart feels fine." She pressed her hand over her chest.

"You're healthy, you're young; the muscle has already adapted."

Adapted.

"Now-"

A commotion from the hall, the sounds of crashing, a low and urgent voice that nonetheless was attempting charm-

"Castle." Her lips split as she smiled.

The doctor paused, glanced to the door as well. Kate moved as if to swing her legs out of bed, but the crippling spasm in her back made her go rigid instead. She gasped and Dr. Benton reached out a hand just as the door opened.

She forced the pain from her face and lifted her hand to him. "Castle."

He came, stumbled a moment, then got to her side, ignoring her hand entirely and cupping her face between his palms, leaning down to press his mouth to her forehead. "Kate. Kate."

"Little drafty there, Castle?" She let her fingers slip into the open back of his hospital gown, felt his skin ripple.

His laughing eyes met hers with a flush. "Ah." He straightened up, glanced over to the bewildered doctor standing at the foot of her bed. "Uh."

She pressed back into the bed, winced, but leveraged herself over, slightly. "Sit with me. You're indecent."

A nurse burst into her room at that moment, the panic in her eyes fading when she saw Castle. "Sir. You're not supposed to be out of bed-"

"I'm getting in, I am," he said quickly and hopped in with her, wriggling like a kid at her side.

"No, it's ok," Kate said, holding up a hand to stay the woman. "He'll only get worse if you kick him out."

Castle huffed at her side, but the nurse sighed and left.

"Ah, Detective?" Dr. Benton seemed to be shaking off the strange interruption.

"Oh. Yes. This virus. Castle never got it."

Castle was already shaking his head. "Nope. According to the bloodwork. Lucky you."

She turned, her breath catching in her chest when she saw how close they were, how his eyes regarded her. "You're okay," she murmured, then realized the doctor was still standing there and Castle was gazing at her.

"Sorry. Ignore him." She waved to Castle, her eyes on the doctor now. "So. You were telling me the damage."

Her heart.

"You arrived dehydrated with a severe electrolyte imbalance; Dilaudid, Valium, Ativan, a couple other drugs in your system." It wasn't a question but he phrased as if wondering if she knew.

Kate nodded, squeezed her hands into fists. "Yes. Because of the-"

"Yes. The lumbar puncture. The site was still leaking when you were found downstairs. Quite a bit of fluid was drained, more than I'd like. So we want to keep you here for observation-"

"Is that bad?" Castle interrupted. "How much fluid can you lose before. . .your brain stops working?"

The doctor gave a flicker of a smile, mostly in the corner of his mouth, but Kate felt his pain. Difficult to suppress your amusement when Castle was accidentally humorous.

"Ah. Well, the cerebrospinal fluid is produced at a rate of 500 milliliters a day. But the brain can only hold about 150. It's drained primarily into the blood, so you're getting entirely new fluid nearly four times a day."

"Oh," Castle said, sounding delighted. "That's fascinating. So even though Kate's lost some fluid, it's already being replaced?"

"Correct. Honestly, the leaking fluid is our main concern." The doctor looked distinctly uncomfortable to be discussing this with Castle; he turned back to Kate and delicately cleared his throat as if to say _Let's get back to business_. "When you get discharged, we'll sit down with you and go over a care plan, explain the lingering effects, what you can do to minimize headaches. But for now, rest, lay flat as much as possible. We've got Dilaudid in the PCA pump; you can manage the painkiller just by clicking the button. Any questions?"

"How long am I stuck here?" she asked, biting her bottom lip.

"We'll see how it goes. We want the puncture to heal up."

She sighed, but Dr. Benton was already clipping her chart to the end of the bed. When he'd gone, Kate turned her head, sought out Castle's hand with hers, clung to it.

"Kate."

"Castle, I-"

"Hey. Knock, knock." Esposito breezed in, Ryan behind him. "I don't want to see your pale ass in my face ever again, man. You hear me?"

Kate laughed, felt her head throb as she did. Castle was grinning.

"Don't look next time."

"Next time?" Ryan moaned. "Man, that nurse came and asked us to restrain you. I told her I wasn't touching it."

"Restrain you?" Kate murmured, felt him squeeze her hand.

Oh. Her hand. He still had it. Her head was drifting again, fuzzy now that she could let her guard down. PCA pump with good painkillers.

Castle whined. "It's that nurse's fault. She wouldn't bring me any clothes. I know we had scrubs or something. They didn't dump us here naked, did they?"

Espo grinned, lifted an eyebrow and a shoulder as if it might be possible.

"No," Castle gasped.

"No, Castle." She started to roll her eyes but the ache in her head felt like blades in her eyeballs; she had to stop, lean her head back. "How did we end up here, guys?"

Ryan settled down at the end of the hospital bed. "The hospital called us in response to the APB we put out on you."

"APB. Cool," Castle murmured; she could feel him grinning all the way down into his little finger. The big idiot.

"We just showed up here?" she asked, frowning at the crack in her voice. Her throat was drying out.

"Basically. No one can figure out who brought you in, where you came from, but you guys were down in the ER. We're reviewing surveillance video."

Down in the ER. Straight up from the secret basement maybe? Castle had suggested a medical research center, this very one in fact. And still, part of her knew that if she weren't on drugs, she'd be sounding a lot less. . .conspiracy theorist. A lot less Castle.

"Who were those guys?" Castle said plaintively. "They weren't government types. No regard for my civil rights-"

"Actually, we're working on a few angles," Esposito said, talking over Ryan who looked like he was about to dish. "Gates told us to keep you guys in the dark until you're released."

"What?" Kate tried to sit up, felt the agony climb up her back, a nailgun shooting into the base of her skull. She ignored it, also ignored the magic button that would deliver a shot of pain meds. "She can't do that."

"Yeah, well, I'll give you some of it. You remember our fake Kevin McCann?"

"Radford Hayes. Dirty bomb," Castle supplied, sitting up and leaning forward. Kate could see the gap of his hospital gown down his back. She bit her lip, pulled her hand from his so she could brush her fingers across that skin.

A choke from the end of the bed. "Uh, huh. . .yeah."

She glanced up, saw Ryan watching her with an intense blush taking up permanent residence on his cheeks.

Okay, so she was on painkillers. And her walls were just-

Wrecked.

Kate closed her eyes, tried to track the conversation. "Radford Hayes set up Jamal and Amir Alhabi to take the blame for that bomb. What does he have to do with us?"

"It's possible Hayes was part of a homegrown cell. That we're dealing with a terrorist group with DOD access."

Oh damn. "But we got McCann's - Hayes's guys."

"His buddies, yeah. But who supplied them the nuclear material? Agent Fallon showed up after you guys were missing from the scene. He was the one - he'd been tracking these guys ever since the bomb. A group of so-called patriots."

Shit. "This is messy." Kate rubbed at her forehead, tried to put the pieces together. The Special Forces turned taxi driver who had tried to detonate a nuclear bomb in New York City. And now an engineered hantavirus that she'd contracted, fought off, and produced antibodies for, thereby (hopefully) saving other people's lives. Getting dumped here at Langone Medical Center when she was no longer needed - a medical research hospital with DOD ties.

Her brain was stuffed with knowledge and not enough spinal fluid to let it float. It was all drowning. It felt like the hand at her forehead was the only thing keeping her up.

"Hey, we'll let you guys rest. Fill you in later." Esposito said suddenly. She felt Ryan's weight shift off the bed as well.

She lowered her hand from her eyes, stunned to see them really walking out. "Guys."

"This is why Gates wants you in the dark. At least until you're given the all-clear." Esposito gave her a kind of half-salute while Ryan followed him out.

And then it was just her and Castle.

And her other hand still at his back, her fingertips resting in the dimple where his spine began to flare. She drew away, mortified.

But Castle shifted against her side, and suddenly the head of the bed was lowering, smooth and steady.

She startled, arms flying out as if for balance, clutched a railing and his arm. "What the hell?"

"Doc said you needed to lie down flat as much as possible. Lie down with me, Kate."

Her heart pounded, which made her head throb and her mouth dry out, and generally made her feel worse, but still. Still. It still worked, still beat.

Castle shifted onto his side when the bed was finally lowered; his fingers tugged the blanket up. He tucked the edge carefully behind him, gave her a grin. "It is drafty."

She pressed her lips together, tried to scoot back a little, give him some room. His knees came up and touched hers even as he reached out and pulled her in close.

She went, pressed her forehead to his shoulder, that spot where his neck made the perfect cove for her head, warm and close. Her hand came up between them, fingers on his chin, his lips, felt the vibrations as he laughed.

"Better not be the same hand that you touched my ass with."

She choked, felt the laughter struggle out anyway, buried her burning cheeks into his chest even as he laughed. After a moment, she wriggled the fingers of her other hand, the one curled under the flat pillow, poked his shoulder with her thumb.

"It's this hand."

"Oh, whew, good." Even as he laughed it off, his fingers were feathering at her jaw, stroking her skin reverently. "You okay, Kate?"

"Little drugged out, actually," she said, felt the honesty was necessary and also a good excuse.

"Will you remember this later?"

"Mm, I don't know." She still felt the pain, still had the headaches; she hadn't yet administered a dose, but she could feel the need for it building.

"You better remember," he whispered. "Do you remember being in that place? The white room?"

"Mostly. There are. . .gaps."

He sighed.

"But." She struggled with it, felt her heart beating too hard. "I remember the important parts."

He touched his lips to her palm, the inside of her wrist, soft and careful and hesitant.

"I can't infect you now, Castle," she murmured, curling her fingers around his mouth as if she could take his kiss.

He drew her hand down then shifted into her, brushed his lips over the rough edge of her smile, slid his tongue over the cracked places until she tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth, invited him in.

He broke the seal of her mouth, stroked inside. She caught a breath, came back for more, felt one of his hands crushing her hip, even as his fingers pressed hard over the pulse pounding in her neck.

He drew away, thumb stroking her cheekbone as if in consolation. "Kate."

She brushed her fingers over his lips, hushed him. "Yeah."

"Kate, I-"

She pressed his lips together. "Castle. In case I don't remember this later." _Wait, wait for me this time. Don't blurt it out when I can do nothing to help us._

He sighed, but he nodded as if he understood, slid his arm around her and pulled gently. She slid back into her spot, nose against his skin, head fitting right there.

"You're okay," he murmured. "The doctor said you're really okay."

She hummed her assent, then remembered. "Except."

"Except?" He drew back to look at her, face thunderstruck.

She traced the edge of his ear with her fingers; her head was buzzing. How to say this right? To make him understand.

"Except - this thing I've caught. . .it does heart damage."

"Heart damage," he breathed.

"But. The muscle can adapt. Can compensate." She took in a long breath, plunged in. "Castle. My heart can. My heart is. Adapting."

She heard the shocked breath he took in, felt the quiver in her fingertips. She raised her eyes to his, and he was grinning. That pure, lovely, crinkle-eyed smile that transformed his whole being.

Her heart would never catch up. "I'm a wreck, but-"

"I don't care," he breathed. "You're okay. You're fine."

She nodded, but already her shoulders were drawing up, her back stiffening. "Can you reach-?" She closed her eyes, sucked in a breath as a muscle in her back spasmed.

"I got it," he said. She felt him reaching past her for the PCA pump's control stick. "You ready?"

"More than," she half-laughed, brushing over his neck with trembling fingers. The unfurling wings of agony stretched out of her spine, strong and wakeful and hungry. "Please-"

"Pushed it, Kate. It'll take a second."

Oh, but. . .there it went. Smothered the dragon's fire, sent him back to sleep.

She sighed and sank into the bed, into him, felt her eyes, which were already closed, close again. Not possible, but there it was.

"Kate? Still here?"

"Mmmm - no."

"Okay. Okay. Sleep."

"Am asleep."

"Not if you're still talking." He was laughing at her; she didn't understand why. His fingers were in her hair, stroking, soothing, drugging her. No. She was already drugged. His fingers were just-

"Good stuff."

Another laugh from him that she felt travel through her, even as her mouth fell apart, her limbs unjointed, her head detached and sank down, far down, ever down-

"Kate, since you won't remember?"

"Hmmm."

"I love you."

"Yeah," she sighed, a long out, forever out. "Yeah, that's good stuff."


	12. Chapter 12

**Wrecking Ball**

* * *

><p>He would be there whenever she opened her eyes. Each time.<p>

Castle had been discharged three days ago, but Kate had been in a nice, drugged-out lethargy for nearly a week. It had given him time to run home, shower and change clothes, eat when he needed to, and then get back before she ever noticed. She hadn't been noticing much. They had a couple conversations, mostly with Kate repeating herself, asking him over and over if he was truly okay.

Cute.

When he came back into her room, he saw the way her eyes shifted under her lids, the twitching of her fingers, so he sat beside her in the bed, carding his fingers through her hair. Her mouth was open at his thigh; the bed was lowered to keep her flat so the puncture in her spine would continue to heal.

After a few minutes of stroking his fingers down the side of her face and into her hair, she struggled awake. Her eyes were more aware than they'd been in awhile, but still hazy.

She licked her lips and swallowed; her eyes drifted shut. She moved her leg, sliding between the sheets, and then turned over, her arms going around him, his thigh, his waist, like she was snuggling up to a teddy bear.

He stilled, eyebrows raised, waiting for whatever came next.

Kate jerked, awake at last, and withdrew her arms, rolling back on her side, and looked up at him.

He grinned. "Trying to cop a feel of my coccyx again, Kate?"

She blushed, a hand coming over her mouth, brushing down. "What?"

"My tailbone," he said, laughing at her.

She smacked his thigh. "Shut up."

"Wanna sit up?" he asked, shifting on the bed. She nodded and he got off, thumbed the controls to raise the head of the bed. She maneuvered slowly as it went, then brushed a hand through her hair and frowned.

"Castle," she complained, tugging her hair back.

"It's fine. It looks fine."

"You're making it oily. And the nurses won't help me wash it every time you-"

"I'll help you wash it." He offered eagerly, and of course, she huffed at him. But she'd already made space on the bed for him. He took his usual spot and couldn't help reaching his hand out to stroke his fingers along her cheek, into her hair.

She ducked against his touch, captured his wrist with her strong fingers, glaring.

"You feel better," he said happily.

She dropped his hand with a sigh. "Yes. Haven't needed that today." She gestured towards the PCA pump and curled up a little tighter.

Castle slid his arm around her shoulders, pulled her over into his lap. She laid her head against his arm, curled her fingers at his elbow, sighing.

"Time is it?" she murmured.

"Around ten. In the morning. Dr. Benton thinks you'll get discharged today, after lunch."

"He told me. I think. Sometime last night." She slid her leg against his in the bed, her knee coming up. "Want to get out of here. Go home."

"I bet. You come home with me."

"What?" She lifted her head, stared at him, started to move away. He tightened his arms, squeezed his knees together to trap her leg, reminding her of how close they already were. She gave him a look but stopped shifting. "No, Castle."

"Then let me come home with you."

She sighed and lowered her head back to its resting place. Progress at least.

"I'm back at work on Wednesday," she said, rubbing her fingers over his wrist.

"You're ready."

She murmured something he didn't catch but which might have been _Duh_ and then she shifted away from him, sitting up. She winced but shrugged off his concerned look.

"Castle?"

"Yeah. Anything."

She sighed, nodded. It seemed enough. A question not asked but definitely answered.

"We'll figure out who these guys are-" he started.

She squeezed his fingers and he shut up. She hadn't wanted to get into it. It could wait til Wednesday.

"What do you remember?" he asked finally.

She shrugged at him. "I don't know. I've been here four days and. . .not sure I've got all of it. I do remember your. . .coccyx."

He laughed and turned his head to look at her; she was smirking at him from under those long, dark lashes. She brought her hand up to his cheek, brushed her thumb over his smile.

"You remember me saying I-"

She pressed her thumb into his lips, hard; he stopped talking to watch her.

"Me first," she muttered. "For once."

He lifted an eyebrow, but she dropped her hand and shifted away from him on the bed, brought a knee up to clasp her arms around it. She had that intense look on her face, the one he'd seen before every major conversation. He wasn't sure he was ready for this.

"With this. . ." She dropped her chin onto her knee, regarded him for a moment. "I'm pretty sure about you."

What?

"It's me I'm not so sure of."

"Is this a nice way of-" _blowing me off_

"Hold on," she chided him, bringing her foot to his thigh and pushing at him.

He glanced down at her bare toes, felt the shock of her touch, not for its position or its sensuality, but for the intimacy it suggested. She touched him now. She teased him and spoke to him like. . .

Like this.

He was just now realizing it. How the past five days had completely remade them. _Her heart was adapting._ It was; he saw now how she was growing around the wound, compensating for the things she couldn't do yet.

He waited until she'd gathered her thoughts back together, gave her the time she needed.

"I'm not sure of me. But you seem to be," she said finally, watching him.

He nodded. Wasn't much else for a statement like that.

"Is that enough?" she asked, lacing her hands together on top of her knee, resting her chin there as she looked at him.

He shrugged back at her. "Enough for now."

She bit her lip, pressed her mouth to her hands before looking up at him; somehow, he'd misunderstood, based on that shy smile. Stunning.

"Kate?"

"I meant. For us?"

_Us._

"For. . .us. I - I've lost track of the conversation," he admitted, because she couldn't possibly be saying what it sounded like she was saying.

Kate lifted her head and slid her knee down next to his thigh, raised up a little, then leaned against his chest, her hand on his shoulder. Her mouth came at him next, brushing his lips, not seductive, not hesitant, but some mixture of both. As if she were trying to convince herself of her own confidence.

He let her, slid his hand to her waist, a counterbalance only, and she pulled back, bit her bottom lip as she looked at him.

"You with me now?" she asked.

He nodded. "With you."

A flickering smile went over her face; she sat back on her heels and studied him, as if trying to decide something.

"It's enough for me," she said finally. "If you're sure, then. . ."

How. . .anticlimactic. "Seriously? This is your come-on?"

She glared at him.

"Totally unacceptable, Beckett. No flowery speeches, not even plain-old flowers? Coulda put a little more effort into wooing me."

She snorted. "I've already got you."

He paused, looked at her; she put a hand up to her mouth as if startled by her own admission.

"Still got some drugs in you, huh?"

She laughed, wiped the smile off her face with her hand. "Hmm. Guess so."

"I'll let you use that as an excuse for another few days, but after that. . ." He shook his head at her, but reached out and brushed the hair back over her ear. She didn't reprimand him for the touch, only leaned her cheek against his palm for a moment.

She closed her eyes and it killed him, just looking at her like this, affectionate and standoffish at the same time. Beautiful.

"Yeah," he said, brushing his hand down her jaw. "You already got me. I got you?"

Kate's eyes opened, lit up, a shine of pleasure and relief. "Yeah." She nodded, as if to confirm her own softly spoken word, then smiled at him. "You got me."

This time when he kissed her, she opened her mouth to his in a moment, brought her hand to his cheek and kept him there with the lightest of touches. Her mouth was silk. She slid away, her lips hovering close. He breathed against her cheek and touched her back with the pads of his fingers.

She leaned in at his nudge, draped herself over his chest, her thigh sliding between his, her palm moving down his neck to rest on his heart. Her head against his shoulder, she let out a long sigh, curled her fingers as if trapping the beat of his heart in her hand.

"Kate?"

She curled her other arm low around his waist, between him and the bed, hooked her thumb into his belt. "Go ahead, Castle. I know you want to."

He smiled, pressed his kiss into her temple, whispered it against her skin. "I love you."

She lifted her mouth to his, gentle and soft, then pulled back a little, her eyes warm on his. "Love you too. How's that for a come-on?"

"Ruined the moment," he sighed, but his grin was so wide that his hands clenched around her, pulled her back down into his arms, tight. Because he knew already and the words were just superfluous. "You are so coming home with me."

This time she laughed and didn't say no.


End file.
